


the road is long and my patience is thin

by scionofthelongproject



Series: counting countless chances [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Constantine (TV)
Genre: Constantine is a damn thot for blue eyes and dangerous smiles, Father son road trip!, Flashback fun, Gen, I'm kidding this is going to be such a tooth puller, Multi, One (1) sharp stabby boi, Prestidigitatous therapist, Road trip playlist is made by punk who stole his best friend's phone away to do so, They're going to be at each other's throats so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-09-17 03:39:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scionofthelongproject/pseuds/scionofthelongproject
Summary: All Kane has to race against the clock with is a rental car, a sniper rifle, a pistol, and his father.This isn't going to end well.





	1. always trust your instincts

**Author's Note:**

> "But, Meg, what about 'bad decisions'?"
> 
> ¯\\(ツ)/¯
> 
> My attempt at weaving in actual canon because any time I do, Arrow makes it completely impossible to exist.

The night air in Monaco is rich with culture, and as he comes back from his most recent venture at a gala, he allows himself to sniff the finer cuisine in the air; bread just made at a restaurant, the sweat of human bodies gathered at the nightclub he passes, the faint scent of wine that may say it was bottled in France but more than likely bottled in Italy. The chatter of the restaurant grows as he passes, and he can't help but to focus on a conversation about a daughter studying abroad in Canada as he continues walking. Something prickles at his intuition, and he stops to look around before moving on.

 _Damn mirakuru,_ He thinks.

There's been many a time his mind tricked him into making shadows into ghosts, and he's sure this time is no different. The rest of his walk is spent trying to wrestle the phantoms out of the alleyways. The hotel he's staying in is modest for the area, and as he walks in, the concierge nods to him. Another ghost runs behind her, and he blinks before smiling and waving, heading up to his room to shower and pass out.

The shower almost seems to work away at knots he's had in his back for months, and he sighs as he gets out of the shower, drying his hair off before wrapping the towel around his waist. He'll try to sleep, he'll get up after failing, he'll eat something small for breakfast, and then he'll go across town to-

“Hello, Kane.”

The voice greets him as he's halfway out the bathroom. The ungodly scream that builds up in his lungs gets stuck in his throat thankfully, and as he turns around to face the voice, his brain processes who it is. “Father?”

“You're still going by Kane, right?” His father seems cordial enough, and it's eerie enough that Kane doesn't trust it. He sits at the table next to the exit to the balcony, resting an arm on the table. Kane gives him a quick lookover, and he doesn't see any weapons on him. The closest Kane's got for defense is the knife in the dresser, but he has a sneaking suspicion he won't need it.

The very fact that his father is in front of him, flesh and blood, finally hits him, and Kane looks from him to the locked door. “How did you even get up here?”

His father gives him a small smile. “I climbed.”

Five stories, Slade Wilson climbed. Yeah, that checks out. Kane shakes his head to reset his thoughts. “Why are you here?”

Slade looks away, troubled by something. “I wanted to talk.”

“Well, I don't,” Kane snarls. “It's been eight months since we saw each other last, and I would've liked to keep that going indefinitely.”

“Kane-”

“No, I don't need this right now. I'm having a hard enough time trying to track down-”

“Pierre Durand?”

Kane stops rifling through his duffle bag to peer up at Slade. “How did you know?”

“I've been following you the last eight months,” Slade snarks. “You don't think I don't know what you've been doing? I just haven't had a good opportunity to talk to you without blowing your cover.”

The slight condescending nature of his tone is more Kane's speed, and he fights back his urge to groan at the fact that he's had a tail the whole time. The hackles on his neck raise and his mouth runs dry as he rethinks the last year. If he didn't notice his father, who else did he miss? “Has anyone… No, never mind.”

“You haven't been followed by anyone else, if that's what you're thinking. I've been keeping an eye out.”

“Well, it's a good thing you have at least the one then,” Kane bites out.

To his surprise, Slade chuckles. “That was actually quite clever.”

Kane heads to the bathroom with his clothes, but keeps the door open. He doesn't expect his father to bring him any good news, but maybe hearing him out isn't the worse idea. It sure beats running into the same dead end he's been encountering the last three weeks. A sour taste in his mouth and a dark voice in his head urges him to just throw Slade out the balcony. The sink feels cold and grounding under his hand, and all of his concentration goes towards not breaking it. “What do you know?” He asks, giving in.

“Durand knows someone's onto him. That intelligence he's trying to smuggle out is keeping him anchored, though. Apparently, there's a young woman keeping hold of it until he gives her an engagement ring.”

Kane finishes putting on his sweats when he peeks his head out the door. “You're fucking with me.” When Slade shakes his head, he continues. “Are you meaning to tell me the whole hang up in this godforsaken town is because of a girl?”

Slade nods. “He won't leave town without it, but you, or rather, the existence of you has him on edge.”

Kane slides his t-shirt on, thinking of his next move. “Thanks for the information. I'll have to get started right away.”

Slade freezes before getting up. “Right. Good luck.”

As his father heads out the balcony, a very furious and fast paced war takes place in himself. Does he let him go or does he ask him to stay? Stay, go, stay, go, it's a very hard decision, and only when Slade is halfway over the railing does Kane make up his mind. “Wait.”

Slade stops. “What?”

“There's a chance I might need a second person on this. I'd have better luck if I did, and I don't really have any access to anyone else who has ASIS training.” Kane crosses his arms, looking off to the side. “So, I mean, you can stay if you want to.”

Except for a small twitch, Slade doesn't react any farther. “I'll go get my gear then,” He tells him before continuing his descent down.

Kane scrubs at his face before shutting the door, making sure the lock and curtain are in place before moving the table into the center and rolling out his plans.

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

Seeing Durand in person makes him surge with energy. The man stops by a small flat above a bakery, and Kane notes over the top of his book the woman tending to her flowers on the balcony before answering the door.

“Must be the girlfriend,” Slade chimes in over the earpiece.

He can pick his father out from across the street; Slade blends in seamlessly as he sits at the cafe with a small cup of coffee. “How do you look so…” Kane trails off, trying to express his surprise that his father has two eyes again.

“Normal? I'm almost insulted.” Slade takes a long drink of the coffee. “It helps to know who is developing what technology nowadays. I stole this out of an ARGUS base located in the States.”

“And it disguises you to look...different?” Kane flips a page, gleaming the text. It's one he's read before, for an old school assignment that he can't even remember the grade of.

“More or less. We can go over it more later,” Slade says, pausing before he tacks on, “If you want to.”

They both wait for Durand to finish his business, and it takes another half an hour for Kane to reply. “Sure.”

Slade glances up from his own book. “What?”

“It'd be useful to know how it works, whether or not we could replicate one. So sure, I'd like to see it later.” He's matter of fact about the device, trying not to reveal just how much he needs some kind of human interaction.

Slade nods. “It would definitely help, considering Pierre just made you.”

Kane looks up, watching as Durand dashes down the street away from him. “For fucks sake,” He groans before taking off after him.

They both weave in and out of the foot traffic, a rushed dance that only makes Kane more desperate to get him once he realizes that Durand is holding a briefcase. Blessedly, Durand turns down an alleyway that's closed off by a ten foot wall. “It's over, Pierre,” Kane says calmly.

Durand scrambles closer to the wall. “You're not getting me,” The man hisses.

A rope sails over the top of the wall, and Durand grabs it and climbs up. The suddenness catches Kane off guard for a second before he throws a knife at the rope. It slices right through, but the person in the other side had already been climbing and grabs Durand by the arm to pull him up.

As he drops Durand on the other side, Slade flashes him a wink before taking a shot at his son’s feet, missing spectacularly. Before Kane can retaliate, his father drops back down on the other side, leaving him with no informant and no intel.

Fuck.

* * *

When he walks into his hotel room, his father sits at the table going over some papers that he hasn't seen before. “What was that?” Kane growls as he shuts his door. Slade doesn't answer him, nose deep in reading, and it infuriates Kane to no end. “Why did you-”

“He gave me the briefcase.”

Kane stops, staring at his father for what seems to be an eternity. “What do you mean he gave you the briefcase?”

Slade gestures to the bed, where the briefcase lays open. “He gave me the briefcase,” He repeats.

Kane picks up the documents, shuffling through them. He swallows down the sudden fear that creeps through his veins because he hasn't been forthcoming with why he needs this briefcase so much. The whole entire time he reads, he waits for Slade to make a move, to do something against him, or even worse, to jump out the window and have a headstart on the obvious next point of action.

Finding Grant.

Slade sets down the documents with a sigh. “This is suboptimal.”

Suboptimal is an understatement; Grant's safety is in jeopardy not only from the obvious of Slade finding out where he is, but to Kane's surprise, DeForge is just as desperate to find his brother. Durand had been a courier for DeForge, and that they have even a suspicion of where Grant is hidden is worrisome. “Why would DeForge be after Grant?” Kane murmurs quietly, more to himself than anything.

“Did your mother do something to anger him?” Slade asks.

“I don't know, haven't been home since Kasnia.” Kane sets the paper in his hand down. “I don't know how Mother is doing.”

Slade hums, taking what Kane had been reading. “They've always had a difficult relationship. DeForge isn't one to halfass something like this though. If he's after Grant, he's going to get him eventually.”

“Not if I get him first,” Kane says coldly. “I'm not letting Mother lose another son.” He doesn't even realize Slade watching him quietly as he packs everything back into his bags. “What?”

Slade shuffles in the chair. “Have you taken into consideration how you're going to do this? Where will you take him, are you going to leave Adeline out of the loop to worry about her son?”

“I'll figure it out as I go,” Kane says clippedly.

“You're rushing into this.” Slade motions to the briefcase. “You go too fast, Grant gets found. You go too slow, Grant gets found.”

“I don't need you nagging me,” Kane hisses. "You haven't cared the last ten years, why even care now?”

Slade's face darkens and before he can say anything more, there's a knock on the door. “Housekeeping?”

Both of the men spring into action; Kane dives behind the table, throwing it on its side just as the bullets fly through the door. Slade's already taken cover under the bed, and as the team breaks through the door, Kane watches him throw a grenade to their feet. He ducks down, the flash grenade ringing in his ears loud enough that even through the cover, it still disorients him. He hears the faint sound of a scuffle, bodies dropping to the floor in almost a rhythm. Arms wrap around him from the back and pull him up, and the only thing that stops him from lashing out is how Slade murmurs his name in worry.

Kane presses the heel of his palm to his ears, trying to recenter himself. _Out, in, begin again._ It takes a few moments, but he eventually looks around at the wreckage of the room. Bodies line the floor, some twitching, some lying still.

“You okay?” Slade asks.

Kane shakes his head. “Not going to be for another couple of minutes.”

“Well, unfortunately, we don't have a couple of minutes. That noise was heard by everyone, and I'm surprised I haven't heard-”

Sirens scream in the distance and Slade sighs.

“There they are.”

Kane takes a shuddering breath. Everything, the lights, the sound, it's all building up like steam in a tea kettle, and he's about to blow. He's been stressed so much the last few days that he can barely think straight.

Slade evaluates him for a second before leading him over to the balcony. “Come on, let's go.”

“I'm not leaving with you.” Kane tries to untangle himself from his father but Slade holds tight.

“And I'm not leaving without you.”

The words cut into Kane like a hot knife, connecting right where he needs it. As he leans on his father for support, he nearly breaks down crying from the fact that he feels so _raw_ inside. Kane wants to scream at him for all the multiple times he's ever needed Slade; that out of all the moments, he chooses to stand his ground at eleven in the evening in a Monacan hotel with the police on their way. At the same time, he just wants to have his father help him up again, like he's eight and passed out on the couch reading.

“Fine,” Kane croaks. “Grab my bags.”

* * *

It's five in the morning when Kane is finally able to talk again.

Slade threw the bags into the trunk of his car as soon as their feet had landed from descending on the balcony, and without saying a word, he'd ushered his son into the backseat before taking off without a second glance to the hotel. As soon as his head hit the seat, Kane wrapped his jacket around his head, trying to desensitize himself as much as possible.

“I'm not getting rid of you, am I?” Kane asks quietly.

Slade drums his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking before speaking. “Probably not.”

“If I just tell you to go, you'll just trail me. I might as well have you where I can stab you easier,” Kane muses. “Though, I do appreciate your honesty.”

Slade doesn't say anything for a long while. Kane listens to the cars pass by for a while, counting in his head how many there are. “I want to make things right,” Slade says quietly.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Kane mutters before sitting up. “If we're going to do this, if we're going to work on this together, there has to be ground rules.”

“Okay.”

Kane blinks in surprise at the lack of resistance. “You can't bring up Bosnia.”

Slade mulls it over. “Fine.”

“No mention of Oliver Queen.”

Kane gets a scoff for that. “Gladly.”

“And I'm not answering any questions you have about what happened to the family after you left. This is a work relationship, nothing more.”

That seems to be the toughest one for Slade to agree to; his jaw clenches and he shakes his head before sighing. “Okay, fine.”

“Once we find Grant, you're gone.”

Once again, no resistance. “Okay.”

Kane huffs. “Of course you wouldn't fight that one.”

“Do I have a choice?” Slade quickly asks.

Whatever reason Kane comes up with, it always circles back to the same answer.

_Not if you want us to stay alive._


	2. dead ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's so many things to say, but none of them lead to good things.

Slade looks through the articles again, gaze drawn back to the boy in the pictures. His smile is bright, uncharacteristically so for either a Kane or a Wilson. The shots are from varying parts of Grant's life; one is taken from afar as he walks down a college pathway with another boy his age. It's obvious Grant is his child, more so than Kane, and it hurts him to know he's had a son that doesn't even know who he is.

_Maybe it's for the best._

The picture is crystal clear, and Slade can see the faint markings of a scar on his throat. He gives a side glance to Kane, wondering if it's true what he said in Bosnia. Did Kane really try to kill Grant? He has a feeling the question would be considered a question about the past. 

“What are you going to do when you find him?” 

Kane takes a deep breath, his distain for the question obvious. “I'll figure it out as I go.”

It feels like the truth; if Kane hasn't been back since Kasnia, this will more than likely be the first time he's seen his brother since the incident. His thoughts drift from Grant to Addie, worried for his estranged wife. She's always been rather good at secrets, especially with her past before ASIS, but Wade DeForge, being the director at ASIS, had an impressive way of needling her into giving them up. How much time did they have to find Grant before DeForge did? 

No, he isn't putting enough faith in Adeline. There were some things that DeForge pushed that Adeline never budged on, Slade himself being one of them. Even with DeForge's eye on her, it was no big surprise to anyone in the organization when Adeline wedded him, and much less when she was pregnant with Kane. 

_“I'm perfectly capable of raising a child by myself,” She said flippantly. “You're either staying or leaving.”_

_“Christ, woman, I'm staying. That should've been clear by now,” Slade groaned, exasperated by her priorities. “But can you please focus on the fact you're in labor?!“_

He smiles at the memory, looking back down at Grant's photos. Another one is of him at a concert, hands poised over the piano with grace. His eyes are glancing at the sheet music over the rim of his glasses, and Slade realizes all the questions on the tip of his tongue don't mean a damn thing when he can't ask them.

_Stop getting attached._

He shuffles the photos to the back of the file, instead reading on correspondences that have been trying to track Grant down. They mention Kane by name and description, which means that there's an entire network that can identify Kane from a mile away. No wonder Durand booked it at first sight. “What made you try to find Grant in the first place?” 

It's an easier question for Kane to answer. “Made contact with Ravager. She warned me she had to bail, that DeForge was cleaning up shop. Told me to make sure Grant was stored away somewhere safe.”

“Wintergreen's kid?” Slade chews over the information. “Where is she now?” 

“Don't know, don't care. The least I can do is try not to make waves and rock her boat. If she's staying hidden, more power to her.” Kane squeezes the steering wheel for a second. “Things were getting nasty for her in the end. DeForge was downright brutal for some of the assignments he was sending her on.”

Slade's eyebrows raise. “That's his niece, and he was giving her the short end of the stick?” 

“Both of us got the short end of the stick.”

“Kasnia.”

Kane exhales forcefully. “Precisely. No more.”

Slade nods, letting the subject rest. He didn't mean to push the boundaries, but there's so much he has to know. 

Otherwise, he feels like he'll be eaten alive by it. 

* * *

When they finally cross over into Spain, Slade lets out a sigh of relief. He's always preferred here to France, maybe just for the memories he has with Addie in Andorra, but nonetheless, it's a country that he knows much better. Kane rests in the passenger seat, looking the most peaceful Slade has seen him in the last twelve years. 

_Not that you've seen him much._

No, not true, he corrects himself. There was a good amount of time after he was rescued and flown back to Australia when he just did office work at ASIS. 

_Which you ruined._

The bitterness in his mouth stays up until he finds a hotel for them to rest at. It's quiet enough; only one car is parked in front of the building, and it's off the road enough that he can see any cars coming in the driveway. “Kane.”

His son's eyes open immediately. “What?” 

“Come on. We need to get situated here until we can figure out Portugal.” Slade cuts him off before he can get a single word out. “Don't try to argue with me on this. You want a business deal, you got one. I've done this for years, and we need to rest.”

Kane snaps his mouth shut and looks away, nodding absently. 

“Good. Then get out.”

* * *

He takes the couch, watching the driveway for any newcomers as Kane picks up where he left off on his sleep. Even as the wear of it all begins to weigh heavily on his bones, Slade stills perseveres through it, if only so he can say he tried to make it as easy as possible for Kane. In any way he can, he's going to make this work, and even if that means leaving in the end, at least he'll be able to leave knowing he reunited his sons. 

There's a small shout, and Slade whips around to see Kane tangled in the sheets, clutching his head in almost pain. As Slade stands, the sound that comes from Kane is broken and wounded, and he debates on whether he should wake him or not; it's always a flip of the coin when it comes to PTSD fueled nightmares. The thrashing calms down, but it leaves a distressed look on Kane's face, brow furrowed and lips drawn tight. The blankets are on the ground, and Slade silently lays them back on Kane, watching his son's shivers gradually stop. His heart goes out to him, because despite all the rough layers that Kane armors himself with, underneath is still a young man trying to survive the horrors he's faced. 

He heads towards the nearest Chinese restaurant closer to the morning, disguise on as he walks down the road. It's not hard to remember what Kane loved as a kid; unlike other children, he would down his vegetables just as heartily as his beef. Slade orders, waiting aside the window to watch, and it pays off as he sees the same car go by five times. The cashier calls his order number, and Slade grabs it, hurrying behind the register much to the cashier's surprise. He rushes through the kitchen, and all the cooks are too dumbfounded to say anything about it until he's halfway out the backdoor. The alley is narrow and he heads out towards the back of the building, keeping an eye out for the car again. His whole entire walk back is spent looking over his shoulder as he weaves through alleys, waiting for the car to come around again; even as he comes back into the hotel room, he's still looking for it. 

Kane sits on the bed, eyes red and puffy and now wide with shock. “Where have you been?”

“I got food. We have to go.”

Kane springs up, and Slade pushes him by his chest towards the wall and away from the window. “Get down,” He grits out. 

They both duck and peer above the window sill, and Slade sighs at the sight of the car coming down the roadway. “Is that it?” Kane asks, and Slade answers with a nod. 

Two men get out, and to the civilian, they'd look ordinary, but Slade can see the outlines of government issued pistols in their back waistband. Kane notices as well, and crawls to grab his duffle bag. “Hide under the bed.”

Kane looks back at Slade. “Why-?” 

“Just do it,” Slade hisses. “And toss me my bag.”

With a glare, Kane pulls it out and tosses it to his father. Slade quickly undresses and redresses into a pair of shorts, hanging a towel over his shoulder. He mutters some words under his breath before opening the door. 

The suits-without-suits flag him down immediately. “Excuse us, sir?” 

“Morning, gentlemen,” Slade greets in a clipped American accent. “Something I can help you with?” 

“You might,” The taller of the two says as he pulls out a piece of paper with Kane's face on it. “This man right here is an escaped fugitive on the run. Have you seen him around?”

“Haven't, unfortunately.”

“It's believed he's driving in a car similar to that one.” The shorter one points to Slade's car. “Have any idea about it?” 

“No, the wife and I got in late last night. She headed out early this morning to meet a friend in Andorra.” Slade cocks his head. “Anything else I can help with?” 

“No, but here's our card.” The taller one hands him a small piece of paper and Slade looks down and studies it. “Call us if you see anything.”

“I'll be sure to do so,” Slade says earnestly before heading to the pool. 

And then he waits. 

He waits, because he knows that they'll wait before breaking into his room to verify that he brought a wife, and when they don't have any evidence, they'll come for him. Or rather, that's how it would work. 

Instead, he circles around the building, listening to them patrol the area and burn some time away before they figure he's far enough away that they can search his room. Just as he hears the door break open and them walking in, he rounds the corner, flipping his knife out. 

“...we need to find him now,” He hears the shorter one say. 

Slade knocks on the door, gathering their attention from surprise before sucker punching the taller one in the face. Kane rolls out from underneath the bed, driving his knife into the shorter one's knee and pushing him to the ground. With one well aimed punch, both agents are knocked out, and Slade shuts the door quickly. “They weren't expecting to find us,” He notes. 

Kane shakes his head. “We need to grab what we can off of them and take off.”

“We'll have to take their car, they know what mine looks like.” Slade crouches, pulling the paper from earlier out. Each of them have a phone, as Kane holds up the other man's just as Slade does, and they both smirk at the other. It's a small victory; hopefully, they'll be able to learn more from them. Slade pulls his bag over and pulls out zip ties, cuffing both their wrists and ankles. 

Kane is already rifling through the trunk when Slade comes out. “Find anything in there?” 

“A laptop,” Kane says rather giddily. “Food. More ammo. Sniper rifle.” 

Slade pulls it to the end of the trunk. “An M24. This is turning in our favor quickly.”

He steps back and Kane shuts the trunk. “I'll drive. You get rest. I need you to be on your game so you can figure out everything that's in that laptop.”

Slade shakes his head. “Not until you eat.”

Kane sharply turns with a glare. “You haven't parented me in the last twelve years, why start now?”

The words jab harder than he thought they would. He can see the fury burning in Kane, and he knows there is nothing he can say to him directly that will fix anything. Instead, Slade pulls his shoulders back and channels his inner superior officer. “You mistake me. I'm not starting anything. I'm telling you, as someone who knows far better than you, that you're going to get us killed on the road if you push it. I need you to be on your game so your brother doesn't die, and that means taking care of yourself. I'll worry about me.”

Kane's face snarls up but he says nothing more as he opens the passenger door and slams it close as he gets in. Slade takes a shirt out of his bag, slipping it on before getting their gear and the food into the car. When he drops the Chinese food in Kane's lap, his son's nose wrinkles. “I didn't ask you to get anything.” 

“No, you didn't,” Slade notes. 

“Whatever,” Kane grumbles. 

Nonetheless, Slade still smiles to himself as he sneaks peeks at Kane shoveling the chow lo mein down with reluctant enthusiasm. 

* * *

The rest he gets is decent, having switched seats halfway to Portugal. Slade wakes to them parking, and as he sits up, Kane lets out a sigh. “We've got a problem.”

Alertness fills every cell of his mind. “What's wrong?”

Kane leans against the headrest of the seat, looking down as he turns the car off. “I looked into the laptop after we passed into Évora.. A lot of it is heavy encryption. Ridiculously encrypted. I haven't seen anything like this ever. What I could decipher barely tells me anything.” 

“Christ,” Slade mutters. He's loathe to admit it, but computers and encryption have never been his expertise, and he knows that even Kane is more skilled than he is. “So we try to sniff around here?”

“Try being the active word. We're in Lisbon.” Kane looks over the headrest. “I'm starting us in the heart of the haystack.”

“But searching for a needle nonetheless.” It's a disheartening thought, that it'll be a one in a thousand shot for them to find any information linking them to Grant, but he has to take anything he can get. “Maybe local gangs will have heard something.”

“There's always someone,” Kane muses. 

The unofficial ASIS motto, so poetically used by its enemies. “There's always someone,” Slade echoes.

* * *

The hotel room is a bit nicer than the last, he muses. Maybe not as classy as the first one, but certainly a step up from the one before. If he was to rate them in a solid way, he'd be able to measure them by how many lamps were installed. It seemed the more lamps there were, the better it was. 

So this place gets three lamps, the last one is a two, and the first hotel room had a damn sconce, which is at least two lamps, so the first lands a solid six. 

Slade sighs as he rolls over. Kane sits in the chair next to the table, still scrubbing over the laptop to see if he can pull anything more. To be completely honest, Slade missed traveling with someone, and even the silence between two people is better than the silence of no one. 

Okay, maybe a sconce is worth three lamps. 

It's a dumb game, played in much simpler times when all Slade ever had to worry about was explaining to Adeline all the bruises he got from the mission. He can hear Billy even now. 

_“Table lamp is one lamp. Ceiling lights don't count. If it's a standing lamp, it's two lamps.”_

Sconces had never been an issue; they never stayed in places that had sconces when Billy was involved. Maybe if it was just him and Addie, but Billy meant a mission was going to be roughnecked. He stares up at the ceiling, dreaming of simpler times in a complex way. 

“You should be sleeping.”

Slade looks over to his son, who's still perusing the laptop. He could swear Kane never said it if he didn't look over to his father with a glare. “You're going to kill us on the road if you push it.”

Slade scoffs at his son's purposeful echo and rolls over, but as soon as he does, he smiles to himself. He sees a lot of Adeline in Kane, and it's a small blessing for it; otherwise, he'd have to keep redirecting them. It's a trait she was born with, and something she drilled into him: the ability to see the big picture. 

So why does Kane not worry about when him and Grant finally meet? Does he not realize how his brother might react? 

_Maybe he's realized it, but maybe he chooses not to focus on it._

It's borderline madness, and as Slade slowly slinks down the steps of unconsciousness, he does so with a worry for his son. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get hype for chapter 3!


	3. unlikely allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never did he think he would ever find such an ally in a Tibetan youth hostel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_-six months ago-_

 

Kane is pissed. 

He jumps off the bus, rain splashing against his ankles. The youth hostel looms over him, like a marker of his defeat. The feeling to do something, _anything_ , roils under his skin, and he bites down on his tongue. The place is cheap because of the lack of seclusion, but he just wants to be alone. So much for relying on old information; he had expected more from going to a monastery, but all it had left him with was more heartache than it was worth. 

There's a small commotion at the end of the counter as he walks in, but he ignores it as he pays for his stay. It's only towards the end that he realizes that the blonde man is speaking with an English accent to a worker. 

“Yea tall, absolutely gorgeous, black hair, blue eyes? She would've been going by Ana.”

Kane studies the man for a second, amused as he watches him flounder trying to get the information he needs. “Tattoo of a rabbit on her hip. A mark of a dragon and shield on her bicep.” After the staff member shakes her head, he runs his hands through his hair and groans. “Just… Never mind.”

Kane looks away, shaking his head as he goes up the stairs. It's interesting, but not interesting enough to keep his attention, up until he hears the man clamoring up the stairs with him. He smells like clove cigarettes and something sweet, almost sickening as it assaults his senses. The Brit says nothing as he moves past Kane, only pausing to light the cigarette hanging from his lips. For just a second, Kane feels something move inside him, rising up into a foreign weight on his heart. They make eye contact, and the Brit winks at him before hurrying up the stairs again. 

He throws his bag in his locker before tucking the key in his pocket and rolling into the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as the Brit take a corner bunk on the opposite side of the room. There's something off about him, something his heightened senses can pick out from the man, and he fights off sleeping for as long as he can before succumbing to its allure. 

* * *

He's awoken by footsteps off to the side of his bunk. 

Curiosity wins over confrontation; after all, his godaunt did always say that information is key. He stays motionless, even when the person digs their hand into his pocket to frisk his key to his locker. 

Fucker. 

He waits until the locker's shut, he waits until the man is gone, waits until the scent of sickly sweetness and cigarettes leaves the side of his bunk. 

Blimey fucker. 

Kane throws his blankets off, following the scent of the thief quietly, pulling out the stiletto from his boot. The door to the rooftop is cracked opens and Kane grins ferally. 

Stupid blimey fucker. 

The man is too busy rifling through his personal effects to notice as Kane stalks up to him. With one quick movement, he wraps an arm around the man's neck and presses the knife against his throat. “Start talking,” Kane growls. “Who are you?” 

The man doesn't react the usual way; there's no panic, no struggle, no begging. Instead, he lets out a small laugh, melodic and tempting. “You were awake the whole time.”

“Can't help it when you're a loud cunt,” Kane snarls. “Now answer my question.”

“A traveler, same as you.” The Brit pauses. “I'm gonna have to be completely honest, you keep that knife at my throat, we're gonna have a very sexually awkward situation, and I don't think either of us want that yet.”

Kane stiffens and lets him go, fighting off the blush on his cheeks. The Brit turns, smiling smugly. “You're adorable,” He mocks. 

“Oh, shut it,” Kane barks out. “Tell me.”

“Alright, alright.” The other man shrugs off his coat, pulling out a bottle of dark golden liquid as he does. “Only fair considering I know a lot about you now, Joseph Wilson.”

Air is stolen out of Kane's chest. No. He gave up that name. He's too stunned to threaten or bite back, drowning in fear and panic too deep to realize the Brit is staring at him. 

“Not much for hearing about ghosts?” He shrugs, pulling a cup that's a tenth of the size of the bottle from nowhere. “That's fair.”

“Your name,” Kane repeats, hollow this time. 

“John Constantine.” The Brit pours half the bottle into the cup, and it confuses Kane beyond belief because it's such a small cup for such a large amount of alcohol. “You're quite aways from home, Joseph.”

“Kane,” He manages to correct. 

“Apologies. Kane,” John says, handing the cup over. “Drink and swap stories with me?” 

“Why?” 

Constantine smiles, a lazy Cheshire smile that promises trouble. “Why else would you come to a youth hostel?” 

Kane scoffs, ripping the cup out of his hand. “Certainly not to get ID'd by some English prick.”

“If you're trying to hurt me, you're failing quite miserably.” Constantine sits down against the ledge of the roof. “Come on, Kane. You were curious as soon as you walked into this hostel.”

“No, I was just looking for a place to sleep.” Kane looks down at his cup with a frown. “How do I know this doesn't have poison in it? You could just be elaborately robbing me.”

With a shrug, John takes a pull from the bottle. “I'll sit here and drink this whole bottle to prove it. Well…” John glances down at the liquid. “I was planning on it anyways, but my point stands.”

Despite his irritance, Kane still sits down next to John. “So what's a Brit doing in Tibet, John?”

“Like I said, the curiosity in you is strong.” John gives Kane a grin. “Tell you what. I'll hazard a guess at why you're here and then if I'm right, I'll tell you my answer to the question. You can ask as many questions as you like. If I'm wrong, you can correct me. If you don't, I won't tell you my side of the question.”

Kane narrows his eyes. “And why would I play along?” 

John laughs louder this time. “If you didn't want to play, you would've stabbed me and left me to bleed out already.”

Kane rolls his eyes. “Then why am I here, oh wondrous psychic?” 

“Not psychic, but I am fairly intuitive.” Constantine lights a cigarette. “You're here because you visited a monastery, hoping to find the answer to your pain. And you didn't find it, hence your rather surly mood.” 

Kane takes a swig of the liquid, humming as he mulls over the sweet honey like taste of the alcohol. “Alright. You're right on that. Though, I imagine the brochure I shoved in my bag combined with my sour attitude gave it away.”

John smiles, nodding. “True. Not the most difficult thing to surmise.” He takes a deep breath. “I'm here trying to find an friend of mine, as you probably heard.”

Kane takes another drink, startled as he realizes the cup is still completely full. “Why are you trying to find her?” 

John taps his chin. “Now that's not exactly fair. I certainly cannot apply a hypothesis to why you're trying to find her as you're not trying to find her. So I'll replace it with a related question and ask, what are you trying to find, Kane?” John takes a drink straight from the bottle, eyes piercing him. They're a dark brown, the iris nearly blending in with the pupil, and they feel like they strip him down to his barest essentials. “You're hurting. Bad. Almost irreparably.”

“Almost.” Kane laughs bitterly. “I guess it's a good thing it's almost.” He drinks again, not even caring that the cup is still full. There's a faintest buzzing in the back of his skull, but he doesn't worry about it. “But that's not an answer to your question.”

“No. You're trying to find peace, hence why you're here wasting time in monasteries.” John stares off into the distance. “I'm trying to find her because I've hurt her dearly.”

“Then why try to find her?” 

“Then why try to heal yourself?” The Brit asks, voice soft as a cloud. “Because you need some kind of salvation to make up for the things you've done wrong.”

Kane pauses mid drink. “You talking about me or you?” 

John smiles, saying nothing more on the matter. 

“So what do you do for a living, John Constantine?” 

“You're a government agent.”

“Was.” Kane takes a drink, eyeing the still full cup. “Was a government agent.”

“I'm-” 

“Some kind of magician.” Kane tears his gaze away from the cup to look at John. “Which is why this cup is all fucked. Am I right?” 

“More or less. Occultist. Master of dark arts. Conman once in a while. Nothing special.” John takes a drag off the cigarette. “So what are you then, Kane?” 

“Just wandering the world, scraping by for scraps.” The cup is ripped from his hand and Kane scoffs. “That was rude.”

“I want you partially sober for the rest of our talk.” John pours the liquid back into the bottle. “I was planning on entertaining you until you passed out before taking off, but you're too much fun.”

“Treat all of your guests this way?” Kane stretches out. 

“No, usually I just let them pass out.” John stands up, hanging his coat over his arm. “Come on. Let's go back to my place. We'll return your key on the way out.”

“At least buy me dinner first,” Kane jests. 

The look John Constantine gives him is engraved on his bones with how intense it is. “Who said there wasn't dinner involved?” 

* * *

True to his word, he does provide dinner. 

His hotel room is lavish, plush comfort that makes Kane's shoulders relax as he walks in. The Brit lights another cigarette, not saying much but still having a pleasant smile on his face. 

“I have an offer for you,” John says as he prepares the stove. “If you're interested. Being a mercenary and all.”

Kane huffs, looking out the window. “I take it you want help finding your friend.”

“Amazing, you can use context clues.” John pulls something out of the fridge. “I'll help you find the peace you're looking for.”

Kane laughs this time, because it's the funniest thing he's heard in forever. “Help me find peace? That's the best joke I've heard.”

“It's no joke.” John takes a drag off his cigarette. “I promise that on my life, mate.”

Kane is skeptical, of course. This man just walks into his life and offers to find him peace. It's no easy thing to believe in after everything he's been through, but hey, it's a better shot than the leads he's been tracking. “And if you can't?” 

“I'll die trying.” There's no pause, no hesitation. John rolls up his sleeves, and Kane gets a glimpse of a few different tattoos. “If you can't tell, I'm slightly desperate to find her. So I'll make you dinner and hope that helps talking you into helping me.”

“What's so important about her?” Kane asks. “I need a hard answer to that.”

John braces himself against the counter. “Because she is, honest to everything holy and not, the most pure and good person I have ever met. And I owe her, at the very least, an explanation and she owes me at least one swift kick in the dick.” 

“What's her name?” 

John stiffens, closing his eyes. “Not one you know.”

That's enough of an answer that Kane lets it drop. John continues to work at the food before finally bringing a plate over. It actually looks decent, and Kane can't help but to groan as he takes his first bite. It's the first homemade meal he's had since-

He locks up, hearing the blood rush through his ears. It's been so hard, trying not to think about his mother, his brother. If Grant even made it. If Grant even survived a knife to a throat, pushed in so heavily that blood just torrents out-

“I thought I was a better cook than that,” John mumbles, bringing Kane back from dangerous thoughts. 

“Got caught up in ghosts.” Kane looks up from the plate to the Brit. “So food, board, and a promise for maybe some peace for my soul?” Kane tilts his head back and forth, thinking. “Why should I believe you?” 

John grins as he takes his cigarette out of his mouth. “You shouldn't. Only difference between a conman and a spy is a paycheck. You have no reason to believe me at all. I could be hiding something from you.”

Kane takes another bite of food, savoring the flavor. It's not too good to be true, enough of a mess to be truth. The Brit's not perfect; he's gone through at least one pack since the rooftop, the eggs need a hint of salt, and he looks like he hasn't slept in a week. But at the same time, his lips curl up in such a way that makes his heart move like it hasn't for six years, the cheese that was added in compliments everything else on the plate, and he really doesn't even have anything to lose. “Alright, you've got me, John Constantine.”

The smile that lights up John's face makes Kane swallow in slight fear.

He's so fucked. 

* * *

_-four months ago-_

 

He might kill John for this. 

Kane dashes down the street, bag beating against his hip as he slides underneath a bridge and through a door. He leans against it, waiting as he hears the local law enforcement rush past him on the other side. A long sigh pushes out of his lungs, and he pulls out his burner phone. “John, you fucking prick.”

“I've been called worse, love. You get the pendant?” His voice is warm, syrupy and coating Kane in relaxation. 

“Yeah, platinum with a galaxy design on the inside.” Kane pulls it out from the bag, studying it. “This was hers?” 

“Yes, I got it for her for her twenty-eighth birthday. If someone with magical blood looks through the lens in the middle, they can see what they want most.” 

Kane turns it over in his hand, wishing he could see through it. “How does it do that?” 

“Stardust. Actual stardust. You weren't too far off when you said galaxy. It was more of an aesthetic thing, but I wanted to give the present a little more meaning.” John hums. “Enough of that. Get back to the hotel room.”

Kane smirks, throwing the door open and sprinting out. 

The last few weeks have been interesting. There hasn't been as much magic as Kane thought there'd be. While seemingly lazy and carefree, Constantine is always planning five steps ahead, thinking of every possibility before acting. Albeit, he doesn't always go with the best possibility, and seems to make his decision based on a roulette spin. It's reckless, but Kane can't seem to bring himself to get angry over it. 

Angry. 

He hasn't felt the brewing rage that he usually does. It's muted, simmering underneath a lid. He doesn't know if this is John's promise at work, but he appreciates the holiday away from it. The daytime stimuli still affects him, noise drowning out his thoughts and light burning his retinas, but so far, John hasn't said one word about Kane's eagerness to be active at night. If anything, he's been even more at the ready to do something under the moon. 

Kane swipes the hotel room card, but the door opens before he can go for the handle. John latches onto his wrist, pulling him inside. “Come on, mate, I've been bouncing off the walls.”

There's sandwiches waiting on the table already, and Kane hands over the bag before grabbing a wedge and stuffing it into his mouth. Delicious, as always. He watches as John takes out the pendant, turning it over and over in his hands. The pendant he had gotten her. 

Kane hasn't asked for her name again; it doesn't matter unless he meets her. Sure, John used the name ‘Ana’, but Kane has a feeling that it's more of a cover or anything. They've made so much progress, and with this pendant, they'll be able to track her down to where she's staying, and with that, maybe his peace. 

John throws it up in the air and snatches it back, opening his hand to reveal it gone and giving Kane a wink. “Tell me, spy, where did it go?” 

“Where you wanted it to,” Kane replies. 

John laughs mischievously. “You're learning.”

Kane smirks, eating another sandwich wedge before going out the balcony to look out on the city of Ashgabat. The lights of the buildings bathe the city in an ethereal glow, and he closes his eyes as he feels the wind whisper against his face. 

“Beautiful.” Constantine comes up from behind him, leaning against the balcony with him. 

“It's calming to look at,” Kane muses. 

“I wasn't talking about the city, love.”

Kane's eyes widen in surprise as he looks over to John. It's blatant flirting, and he realizes just how dense he's been to the charms of the Brit. A blush creeps along his neck. He hasn't felt wanted like this, ever since- No, he mustn't think of his name right now. He swallows, giving John a half smile. “You must have lost your eyesight fighting that aswang a few weeks back. I mean, I know she was hideous, but-”

Lips press themselves against his, and it tastes like heaven, but as hands wander under his shirt, Kane realizes that John Constantine was built for sin. John trails down to his neck, and teeth latch onto his earlobe, making Kane moan. “Come on, Kane. I've got a plush bed waiting for us, and I've waited too damn long to find out what's under that uniform of yours.”

Kane smiles, letting himself be pulled in. “You often sleep with Australian spies?”

“No,” John rasps. “You're the first, and I don't have many left of those to take, so consider yourself lucky.”

Kane turns them around, wincing as he shoves John onto the bed with more force than necessary. “Sorry, I-”

“Don't be,” John gasps as Kane crawls over him. “Rather like being handled rough.”

“Then I take it you weren't planning being on top.”

“Contrary. Thank fuck I don't have to bloody beg for it.”

Kane gives him a wicked grin. “Oh, you can beg for it?” He starts unbuttoning John's shirt. “I might like to hear that. Since you've been calling the shots since the beginning and all, I have a hard time believing you prefer being under me.”

“Kane,” John whispers. “I'd rather you call all the shots right now. Please.”

The sight of a disheveled John is a sight to behold. Kane bends in, leaving open mouthed kisses along the flesh as he finishes unbuttoning the shirt. “You can do better than that,” He murmurs against John's stomach. 

“Oh, you bloody fiend,” John gnashes out. 

“That's not begging,” Kane notes, resting his hands on the zipper of John's slacks. 

“Kane, please. You haven't the faintest idea how much I have wanted to feel you against me.” John groans as Kane undoes his pants, a small reward. “Oh, love, please.”

“Better.” He trails his hands up John's throat, groaning as John lifts his chin for more access. “Begging me to choke you?” Kane teases. 

“Too obvious?” John asks. 

“I might hurt you.”

John snorts. “If it's not painful, I don't want it.”

When he squeezes, John whimpers, high and breathy and absolutely desperate, and as he makes his way down to the throbbing cock peeking from the undone pants, he realizes he was wrong two months ago. 

John Constantine is going to be fucked. 

* * *

_-two months ago-_

 

A buzzing sound rouses Kane from sleep and he eases a drooling Constantine off his chest before looking at the text, swallowing down panic as he reads it. 

>Call me, Jojo. It's Petals. 

He rushes out of bed, slinging a blanket around his waist before heading to the bathroom. With a deep breath, he presses the call button. It rings once before he hears a melodic giggle. “Hello, Jojo.”

She's the only one who can get away with saying it, and he sighs in relief from her voice. “Rose. How'd you get this number?”

“Red Hood.”

Fucking Jason Todd. Kane should've stapled the loose lips shut when he had the chance. “You haven't told-”

“No, if you wanted your mom to know, you would've found a way. Auntie is still sure her son is dead. Speaking of which, you need to find Grant.” She takes a deep breath. “My uncle's been scorching everything connecting back to our fathers. Addie's safe for now, but I found some files that's showing DeForge might turn on your brother. I don't know for sure but-”

“No, thanks for the tip.” Kane hears the door open and turns to see John, who gives him a worried look. “What about you?” He asks Rose. 

“I'm with Hood. He's got enough clout to hide me.” Rose sighs. “Don't try to contact me, I'm ghosting. This burner's going in the water. And, Jojo?”

“Yeah, Petals?” 

“Stay safe.”

The line goes dead and Kane groans, pressing the phone to his forehead. “Sister?” John asks, lighting a cigarette. 

“Might as well be.” Kane groans. “My brother might be in danger.”

“You gotta go find him,” John concludes. 

Kane lowers his head, looking up at John with regretful eyes. He's told him the basics, that he hurt his brother unforgivably, that his relationship with his father is strained because of his father's decisions, and that his mother and brother think he's dead. “I don't want to leave,” He admits. “These last few months have actually been nice. And I still have to help you find Ana.”

John gives him his usual ‘sleep with me, I promise it'll be good’ smile. “You have. You fulfilled your end of the bargain. I know what I promised, and I have to ask for a raincheck if you're leaving.”

“You’ll come back?” Kane doesn't want to be hopeful, but damn, he's actually developed some kind of feeling for the Brit. 

“My dearest Aussie,” John coos. “As soon as I've found her, I'll race to you faster than Hermes.”

Kane looks to the ground, shaking his head. No, no feelings. Not when he might never see John again  “I need to get going.”

John hands him his clothes as Kane goes to the bedroom. As soon as he's dressed, John grabs his wrist, spinning him around for a kiss that feels like it sears into his soul. “Be careful, Kane,” John whispers. “Let me find you in one piece.”

“I'll try my best.”

Kane throws his bag over his shoulder and before he leaves, John clears his throat. “Zatanna.”

Kane stops halfway out the door. “Come again?” 

“Not without you,” John jests before taking a drag off his cigarette. “You asked for her name long ago. It's Zatanna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me have my fun.


	4. breaking skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't always go the way we want them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was excruciatingly hard to write. Damn scene block.

_-now-_

 

His father was supposed to never find out about Grant. 

Well, technically, most people weren't supposed to find out about Grant. The fact that DeForge even caught word of him being Adeline's son is worrying. Auntie was a resourceful woman, and the responsibility of hiding Grant was entrusted in her care for very good reason. Even Kane hadn't known about him until he was sixteen, after his father was determined missing in action on Lian Yu. He remembers clearly the day his mother took him aside. 

_“Habibi, you must forgive me for keeping a secret.”_

It was a secret to forgive easily; Adeline didn't survive as long as she did because of carelessness. Survival could have easily been her middle name for all he knew. She had her reasons. Grant was well worth the protection; as soon as Kane first laid eyes on him, he felt the same urge of protection he felt for Rose. Grant knew, of course, who his real mother was, but was led to believe he traveled the world with Auntie for education, which wasn't a total lie. 

_“Do you know where my father is?” Grant asked when he was eight. It's inquisitive, neutral in tone._

_Kane hesitated to answer, staring at a word in his botany book. “Our father is gone.”_

Grant never asked past that, which Kane was grateful for. He could imagine his brother's reasoning: why pine away for something you never had? For the most part, their father stayed a dead topic, and they could forget about it, instead growing up like brothers when Auntie was in the area. Which was quite often, thankfully. Thick as thieves, the two of them were so close from day one. Seven years of siblinghood, undone with a single lie. 

_“He's planning on killing you.”_

Kane furrows his brow, rubbing at his forehead. The sun's out with the ghosts, and it's killing him slowly. His father is gone, trying to find any kind of lead he can that might tell them why DeForge is so sure Portugal is a hit. Maybe Auntie left something behind, maybe Grant was seen by someone. Kane covers his eyes, groaning. God, what is he going to say to his brother? 

_‘Sorry, our uncle and my secondary father figure told me that you were going to kill me and I preemptively tried to kill you because of the super soldier serum in my blood that makes me angry as all hell and nigh unstoppable.’_

The food in the fridge is tasteless, made bland by his guilt. He leans against the wall, trying to keep everything together inside without destroying the room. He can hear a car pull up, and he hears feet hit the ground. He focuses on the weight of the footfall, and he rights himself as his father walks through the door. “Get anything?” Slade asks. 

“A mention of the word ‘tempest’. Nothing more.”

Slade's brow furrows. “Hmm. Not much to go on.”

Kane nods in agreement. “Same for you?” 

“No one's heard about him.” Slade looks over at the laptop. “It's a shame that we haven't been able to get much off of it.”

“But there's something here. Has to be.” Kane pulls out the papers again, looking over them. They're crinkled from how many times he's looked over them. “If not in Lisbon, then somewhere in Portugal. I'm going out to check my own sources.”

He can feel the scrutinization from Slade and he ignores it as he leaves out the door, but he can't shake off the ghosts that cling to him. 

* * *

They still linger.

As he rests on the bench, waiting for his contact to come, he flicks out the lighter he'd found in his jacket after leaving John behind. It was something the occultist had been messing with constantly, twisting and flipping it between his fingers, and he wonders if Constantine simply forgot it or purposefully put it in there. Kane rubs his thumb over the engravings, feeling how worn they are. It's almost as if the memories imprint on his skin, all the attention that John focused into it throughout his possession of it weighing in his hand. It's been helping him throughout the trip, being something that he fiddles with in his pocket in his times of stress. 

He loses himself in the soft valleys and rough edges of it, before opening the lid and flicking the igniter, watching the flame. Tiny sparks of magic dance in the fumes, and he watches them as closely as John did. There's something to the lighter, something that John could see that he can't. He hums before leaning back as a woman sits down. “Did you hear about the accident on 5th and Agustin?” She asks in Portuguese. 

“Three car pileup,” Kane muses back in her language. “What do you know?” 

“Gangs here are too small,” She sighs. “Don't know who will have seen him.”

“Striking out everywhere.” Kane stands, shoving the lighter in his pocket. “Any word on his condition?” 

“He's been active in previous months,” She says. “Claudia has heard more. Up in Wales.”

“Ahh, Esme, you beautiful lass.” Kane wants to preen. Wales. Finally, a start. 

“Don't,” Esme corrects. “Only go up there if you lose him here. I can feel something.”

“Gut feeling?” Kane asks. 

“Always. There's changes coming, Wolfman. Don't underthink things.”

Kane smiles at her. “Be safe, Esme.”

He strolls away, shoving his hands in his pocket. The lighter brushes against his knuckles, warming where it touches. He wonders if somehow, the magician is manipulating the odds for him. Even if not working his magic, it still feels like it did when John and him were walking through the streets. 

As he rounds the corner, he looks up, throat tightening as he sees the man standing by the streetlight. His green eyes pierce through Kane, and the sneer on the man’s face brings out the panic in his chest. Kane blinks, and the man's gone. What brings him back down from his storm of fear is the vibration going off in his pocket, and he answers the phone without hesitation. 

“You need to relax, love.”

John's voice anchors him into the present, and he lets out a sigh. “How'd you know?” 

“That lighter of mine is enchanted. Forgive me for not asking, but I wanted to keep some kind of tab on you without being too intrusive.”

Kane smirks. “It's fine. Quite welcomed, actually. Means you'll actually come back and see me, if only to get your lighter back.”

John chuckles, low and amused. “You act as if that lighter's the only thing I'm coming for.”

They're words that warm his heart, and he fishes the lighter out of his pocket. “So any time I'm about to lose it, you're going to call?” 

“Any time you're afraid. You can handle the rest.” John pauses to think. “At least, I trust that you can.”

“I appreciate the trust.” Kane continues his walk back to the hotel. “My chain smoking guardian angel.”

“Mate, you have the wrong idea about me.”

“No, I don't think so.” Kane opens the lighter, staring at the flame. “You went through cartons like none other.”

John laughs quietly before trailing off. “You want to talk about it?”

Kane wants to, wants to pour his heart out to someone who will listen, who will hear him out about the adorable and strong boy that he would've torn his heart out for, the one that he watched die right in front of him. 

_He tries to run, tries to dodge, but his assailant is too quick, driving a sword into his chest-_

“Love, you still with me?” 

Kane takes a shuddering breath. Now or never. “Dead fiance.” He can't tell from the silence how John is reacting, and he grips the lighter in his hand like it's swimming away as he assumes the worst. “Never mind, shouldn't have-”

“I appreciate you telling me.” Kane stops, staring at a random spot in space, feeling the brevity of the moment root him. “Can't be easy to tell a random fling about something so serious.”

“Is that what you are?” Kane manages to ask, realizing slowly what the answer is. It's been like a slow freeze possessing his veins, desperate to feel the warlock's fire again. He didn't want it to be like this, didn't realize he was hip deep engrossed with John Constantine until he was too late to look up. 

“Isn't it?”

“You're more than that.”

John takes a breath to say something, but lets out a groan. “Oh, bollocks.” 

“What's wrong?” 

“Unwanted company. Sounds like you're having a holiday compared to me.” John grunts before sighing. “Don't think this conversation is over, Wolfman. You're my little puzzle box.”

The sincerity in the tone of John's voice brings out the sarcastic tease in him. “Is that all I am to you?” 

“So much more.”

The line goes dead, and despite the honesty of his history, Kane feels a type of warmth nestle deep in his chest. 

* * *

_Something came up. Be back soon. - 13:56_

He wasn't wanting to split up this much, and as Kane checks his watch, he groans. Slade has been gone for five hours, and that's not soon, not in his family. He can't call; otherwise, it might ruin everything Slade has done in the last few hours. He doesn't want to have to worry, but it's less about the possibility of Slade being hurt and more about Slade acting on his own. There's the fear that everything he's done is about to be given to DeForge on a silver platter.

It's easy enough to follow where he went; the smell of gunpowder and choji oil easily soaks into the walls. He can tell that murder is written on his face because everyone hastens to get out of his way as Kane storms down the sidewalk. 

No, Slade wouldn't do that; after all, he has much more to resent DeForge for than Kane does. It's still a worry that his father will disappear with all of his evidence, and the fear that everything will be taken from him seizes his throat. God, how could he be so stupid? He's been so blinded by the very fact that Slade's traveling with him that he hasn't realized how much he's actually revealing to him. He's been weakened by the surprise of his father, so stupidly-

The phone vibrates, and Kane takes it out to look at the message. 

>do I need to call, my dearest Aussie

His lips twitch. Angelic chainsmoker strikes again. His thumbs hover over the keyboard as he thinks. 

>No, I don't want to get reliant on you always being there. 

He hits send and not even five seconds later, the phone lights up with an incoming call. 

“Now,” John says as Kane answers. “I'm almost offended by your reluctance to trust me.”

“It's not trust,” Kane insists. “You were busy doing something.”

John laughs. “That was nothing. Already taken care of.”

“I can't bother you over every little thing.”

“And if I want you to?” 

Kane swallows. He hasn't had that kind of support in a long time. It's frightening to think of risking his emotional wellbeing like that again, and he takes a deep breath to try to think. 

“It's okay if you can't,” John assures him. “Just know it's there.”

“I'm travelling with someone,” Kane bites out. “He said he'd be back soon, but it's been a few hours. I'm worried about him betraying me again.”

John hums. “How well do you know this person?”

“Complicated.”

“Ooh, an enigma.” John takes a drag of a cigarette. “Ask yourself, what do they stand to gain if they betray you? And what do they stand to lose?”

“I…” Kane trails off, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “It's my father.”

John groans. “Ah, you thought this was tricky. Well, tell us. Why is he in this with you?” 

“Finding Grant.” 

The chuckle John lets out is amused. “Is that all? I think you're being modest.”

Something lodges in Kane's throat as the meaning rolls over him. “John, I don't think you understand-” 

“Kane, I know a lot of fathers, and from what I've surmised, you would've cut him off-slash-down if you really thought he was in this for any malicious reason.” Another drag of his cigarette. “So why are you conning yourself? What is so frightening that you can't come to accept?” 

Words can't come any slower, and as he stops in the street, he recognizes the telltale signs of a lookout nest. “I've gotta go.”

“Take care.”

Kane shoves the phone into his pocket, sneaking his way through the fire escape. Long having practiced stepping on shaky metal structures, he makes his way up, knife in hand and senses in overload. One of the windows opens and he's pulled in, and Kane curses himself internally at the surprise. With one turn, he flips them over, and as he drives his knee into his assailant's stomach, he presses a knife to their throat. 

Slade grimaces, looking down at the steel at his throat. “Could you-” 

_Push. Just a little bit, just enough to see him drown in blood._

No, that's not why he's here, that's not why, he's letting his father help. Kane swallows his panic down, pulling it away and getting off of him. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don't be.” Slade sits up, rubbing his neck. “It's good to know you're on your toes.”

The praise, however miniscule, still knocks Kane off his feet for a few seconds before he remembers his reasoning for being here. “Why have you been gone so long?” 

“Source said there might be someone that knows something. He was supposed to come around three, but there was a car accident on the upper side of town that slowed traffic down immensely. He should be here any minute.” Slade checks out the window before looking back at Kane. “Did you get anything?” 

“If this doesn't pan out, I've got another place where we can go.” Kane looks out the window, watching the traffic to by. “How exciting.”

“The thrilling nature of stakeouts.” Slade goes back over to the desk in the corner, just out of the light but surveying over the street. “You don't have to stay if you don't want to.”

_What is so frightening that you can't come to accept?_

Kane looks over to his father, who, at first glance, seems to be studying the streets, but he's having to force himself not to look in Kane's direction, and just like that, Kane has his answer for John as he sits in the opposite corner. 

_I'm afraid of him actually caring about me._  

* * *

It's just after sunset when it happens 

A man strolls out of a building, and both of them perk up. Slade looks from one structure to the other. “Didn't he go into the green house four hours ago?” 

“Yes, and now exiting the brick building,” Kane replies. 

Slade glances over the neighborhood again before groaning. “They have an underground system set up.”

“That isn't a local gang thing,” Kane notes. 

“No, it's an ASIS thing.” He pulls out his phone, sending a call to Kane's before switching his disguise on. “Answer that, and put it on speaker. I'll be right back.”

Slade heads down the stairs in the building, three steps at a time. He's seen this before, even practiced it a couple times. There's more than likely a third exit to the system, and as he passes the green house by, he sees a door with a lock on it through the window. Damn. More than likely, it's on watch twenty-four seven. Slade continues to stroll past the house, humming to himself as he thinks. He ducks into the corner shop at the end of the street, paying for a bottle of juice and a bag of chips before crossing the street. The brick building doesn't have any windows, but it does have a keypad, and Slade curses under his breath as he walks right past it. 

Kane waits by the door, fidgeting as Slade opens the door. “Well?” 

“Locked up tight. Keypad and guards. It'd take some real magic to get in there.” Slade looks out the window again. “They're hiding something important down there. We should regroup back to the room and see if we can pull anything off of the laptop.”

Kane says nothing, and it's eerie to Slade just how quiet his son is. 

* * *

He waits until his father is asleep at night. 

Kane doesn't take much; he doesn't need much for what he's about to do. He knows of people who carry fancy tools with them, thinking it's needed like drawing fine art. Either way, his feelings about both subjects is the same. You only need basic instruments to do the job. 

He trails his way back to the stakeout nest, waiting on the side of the building in the dark. He sees someone walk out of the brick building, looking around to see if he's going to pick up any unwanted attention. Kane smiles darkly at the notion before starting his tailing. 

Instead of nipping at his heels, Kane ducks into a parallel alley, slinking ahead to cut him off as he waits against a wall close to the street. As soon as the man is in arms reach, Kane grabs him, pressing against the man's throat so he can't breathe or even talk. He drags him farther into the darkness, the man's struggles useless against his iron hold. “Now, I'm only going to ask once. Where is Grant Wilson?” 

Kane releases his hold just enough for the man to whisper. “You're not getting anything from me.” 

Kane rolls his eyes before jabbing his foot into the back of the man's knee. Bone cracks, and the man lets out a choked yelp. “That's a shame. I was hoping we could make this easy.” The man drops to his knees, and Kane grabs him by the hair, pulling out a knife. “Last chance.”

“Do your worst.” It's spoken with ignorant bravado. 

Everything, the past few days, the past few months, hell, the past few years seem to surge through his blood, and Kane grins ferally as he shoves the blade into the man's back. The man lets out a small and pathetic scream, only held up by the hand scrunched in his hair. Kane twists it, feeling how it tears through bone and muscle like nothing. 

Even he can't fathom what his worst is, but he's willing to jump down that void and find out. 

* * *

Blood. 

There's blood everywhere. It coats the nearby trash can, the alley wall. The ground is now a swimming pool full of it, and Slade swallows down a thick fear as he follows the trail down further the alley. He turns the corner, facing his son's back. His eye darts from his back to Kane's hands, and his stomach turns at the sight of organs everywhere. “What have you done?” 

Kane turns his head, and the man in front of Slade isn't his son, not with that predatory smile and slaughter in his eyes. “He wouldn't give me what I needed.”

“This isn't…” Slade takes a deep breath. “Son, this isn't right.”

“And how would you know what's _right_?” It's said with a snarl, and Kane turns fully to face him. His entire shirt and part of his pants are soaked in blood, and viscera clings to the fabric. “With all that blood on your hands, where do you think you have the right to judge me?”

“I'm not judging, I'm worried.” Slade glances down at Kane's hands, noticing how hard he's gripping the knife. 

“Where were you to be _worried_ when I was burying my friends because of you? Where were you to be _worried_ when I was sent off to Lian Yu to find out what happened? Where were you when Rose and I found her father's dead body, your sword stuck in his eye? Where were you when DeForge was there to talk me into becoming a force that would go toe to toe with Deathstroke the Terminator? When they injected me with the same damn thing that turned you into my nightmare?” 

The entire time, Kane is backing him up to the wall and Slade's blood turned to ice. The stimuli, the fits, the reclusiveness. There's no way he could've pieced it together himself, but the signs are all there. Mirakuru. They found more on Lian Yu. And now his son's afflicted with the same ghosts that he was. The knife presses against his throat, and he closes his eye. He deserves it, this much is true, but Grant. They have to find Grant. “Joseph, please, we have to find your brother-”

“You mean the brother I betrayed? The one that I was so sure was going to kill me? The one that DeForge pointed at and told me was my enemy? Like I was his personal weapon against Mother?” The knife presses deeper, and Slade can feel blood run down his neck. “You don't get to say that name. Joseph Wilson died the day they buried-” 

Kane cuts himself off, eyes widening as if waking up from a dream. The knife falls out of his hand, and he steps back slowly. 

“Kane,” Slade murmurs, pleading almost. 

His son shakes his head before taking off running, feet slamming into the concrete as he runs down the alley. Slade knows he can't catch up to him, and he slumps against the wall, feeling what's left of his heart break again. 

* * *

He comes to his sense on a rooftop. 

His back is pressed against the brick wall next to the entrance, and he looks down at his chest, panic bubbling at the amount of blood there is. His hip is vibrating, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket, staring at the name on the screen. Does he answer? Is he in the right state to answer? 

Only one way to find out. 

“Good God, mate,” John growls over the phone. “I've been calling the last hour. Don't ever scare me like that ever again.”

“Can't promise anything.” His voice is scratchy. “Your lighter going off?” 

“Like a bloody nuclear alarm.” John's voice goes soft, and it wraps around him like a warm blanket. “What happened?” 

Kane shivers. “I…haven't been honest with you.”

“Nor have I with you. We both keep our secrets.” 

It's a bittersweet truth; the reality of it is that their paths keep them secretive, and until now, Kane has taken it for granted. “I…I tried getting information out of a man. And…” He trails off. “I have something inside me, it's what makes me strong, everything's heightened. Everything's sensitive.”

“I figured something was going on. It's why I didn't argue with moving at night,” John admits. 

“It makes me...irritable. Irrational. Volatile.”

“The best kind of bar fight bloke,” John comments. “So you killed him.”

The words bring the full reality to his attention. “Yeah. My father, he found me. And I…I almost killed him too.” Kane runs a shaky hand through his hair. “I'm not doing good, John.”

John swallows audibly. “Alright, it can't be that bad.”

“We've hit a dead end, and I'm sure I just completely fucked it up.” Kane hits his head against the brick wall. “We're never going to find him. And it's all my fault.”

“Hold on, love, give me a minute.” The phone goes mute and Kane feels the blanket recede, loneliness sweeping in to claim what is left. He counts each second, losing hope with every number, and when the phone picks back up, he gasps like he just woke up from a falling dream. “Listen, you stay wherever you are. Don't move to another city. Someone will be there for you tomorrow morning. Get some rest. You'll need it.”

Kane can't move except to nod. “What about you? When-” He cuts himself off from asking what he wants. _When will I see you again?_  

“Don't worry that pretty gelled head of yours. I'll catch up before you know it. Just have some loose ends to tie up.” John sighs. “Trust me, I'd be there if I could. I could really lose myself in Australia right now.”

Kane laughs in surprise. “Wisecracking even now?” 

“It's how I smooth things over, love. It's part of my charm.” John pauses. “The person who's coming, she's going to make you feel… you'll like her. I promise. Don't try to resist it.”

“You act as if I'm not personable,” Kane sniffs. 

John chuckles. “We both know you're very particular.”

Kane bites his lip. “Should I… go back? To the hotel?”

“Depends on you. Depends on if you can face your old man again. You wanna know something, though?”

The next word comes out as a pathetic whisper. “What?” 

“I think you're strong enough to look the bastard in the eyes and not flinch.” Kane can almost hear the grin on John's face. “You fought an aswang off of me. I know the strength you have, Kane Wolfman.”

The words invigorate him and he smiles thinking back on John's words. “Eye. He's missing one. It'd just be looking him in the eye.”

“There's my feisty mercenary. Go, get back to the hotel. Clean up. And get some sleep, I know you need it.”

“Yes, sir,” Kane says mockingly. 

“I'll talk to you tomorrow, after everything's been…settled. Sleep tight, don't let any karakura bite.”

Turkish monsters. A man after his heart, or the empty hole where it is, at least. “Night, you smutty Brit.”

John's laughter is the last thing he hears before he hangs up, and it's enough of a boost that he's able to stand up and actually walk. He keeps to the darker side of the streets to avoid getting stopped for the absolute mess he looks like, and the breath of relief when he sees the car is rescinded when he sees their hotel room empty. 

_Maybe he's cleaning up my mess?_

Kane closes the door and leans against it. He looks down at himself, grimacing. He needs a shower, maybe five. He waits until he's in the actual tub to peel off the bloody clothing, tossing them in a garbage bag before turning the water on. He leans against the wall, closing his eyes and feeling the water fall against his body. When the water is clear, he gets out, fetching the lighter out before tying the garbage up and slipping into clean clothes. He curls up in the bed, lighter in hand, and as he flicks the flame on and off, drowsiness makes the promise to take him, and he drifts off, sleep inviting itself in like a vampire breaking all the rules. 

* * *

“Now calm down.”

Kane shoots up, the events of last night catching back up to him like a boogeyman in his dreams. He looks around the room, settling on his father aiming a gun at a figure sitting on the table. The words were hers; firm and soothing. 

She wears a leather jacket that ends into a tailcoat, covering a sleeveless turtleneck. Her pants seem to have rips in them, but he realizes as soon as he thinks it that they're a fishnet pattern. Her heels are short but sharp, and she takes her sunglasses off as she turns to face Kane. “Great, you woke him up,” She huffs. “He needs his sleep, you know.”

“Who are you?” Slade demands. 

Before she can say anything, Kane answers for her, because he knows, her name is on the tip of his tongue. All the times John described her, the way he did it, like he was speaking of a primal force of the earth, a goddess long forgotten. 

“Zatanna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you want next: Zatanna helping the boys or the previous weeks of John finding her.


	5. requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's someone who's supposed to have a trick up her sleeve, and he doesn't know who it's for.

“Zatanna?” Slade scoffs. “Who the hell names their kid ‘Zatanna’?” 

She smiles impishly at his father as she puts her sunglasses in her breast pocket. “Who the hell names their kid ‘Slade’?” 

His jaw drops in furious shock, and Kane covers his mouth with his hand to hide the surprised smile on his face. The warning John gave him was unnecessary; he's already smitten with her. 

She gives her attention back to Kane. “As you can tell, John sent me. He told me what he knew, apologies if it was meant to be kept under wraps. Where's the…” She takes a deep breath, shuddering at the next word. “Corpse?”

Slade jerks his head towards the door with a glare, and Kane tries to avoid looking at the nasty gash along his neck. “Outside. Bagged. Tried my best to clean up what was there.”

Zatanna nods and stands. “Try to get some more rest, Kane.” She turns to Slade. “Show me where it happened.”

“I'm not sleeping,” Kane argues. 

Zatanna whips around, and all of the sudden, it's like he's five again with the firm stare she gives him. “Yes, you are. You have not been sleeping enough.”

“What, did the magician tell you that?” Kane snarks.

“No,” She says simply. “The bags under your eyes and the exhaustion in your voice tells me that. I'm not an idiot, and I will not tolerate this blatant lack of self care. Get sleep.”

Kane groans as he lays back down in a defiant flop. “And if I can't sleep?” 

Zatanna comes over to him, and while Slade lowered his gun, he's still following her every action with a dangerous leer. She holds her hand out, and he looks at it like he has no idea what to do with it. “Come on, hold my hand for a second.” 

Kane hesitates before touching it. She whispers a few words, and even with his sensitive hearing, it just sounds like gibberish and as she pulls away, he blinks blearily. “Ssh, we'll be back when you wake up,” She assures him and her voice quiets so only he can hear. “You won't go lonely.”

As he closes his eyes again, he can't seem to open them, and he listens to them leave the hotel room as sleep drags him down. 

* * *

Slade follows her out, fuming in quiet anger. There's something off about her, something that feels fake and dangerous. Finding her sitting on the table, watching over Kane like a gargoyle, wasn't comforting to say the least, especially with last night in mind. She seems to know what happened last night, as well as a few other things, and her actions have set off alarms in his head. “What did you do to him?” 

“I helped him sleep,” Zatanna answers. 

Slade lets out a forceful breath, frustrated with her vagueness. “If he doesn't wake up-” 

“He will,” She says, and he feels the words at his throat like a knife. “Don't doubt me on that. Now, where are the bags?”

 “The bags are by the car.” 

She wrinkles her nose as she circles around to look at them. “Messy, but doable.” She stoops down, making a gesture over the bags as she whispers something. Smoke comes from the bags and drifts into the air, and Slade stares up at it wide eyed.

“What did you just do?”

“Helped his soul move on,” Zatanna says, slight sorrow in her voice. “Violent deaths such as these tend to linger, and I feel Kane doesn't have the room for another ghost to follow him.” She whispers something else, and the bags seem to deflate, flattening on the ground. If he wasn't unsettled before, he is now. She grabs the bags, folding them up. “Come on, I'd rather not have the local law enforcement find a bloody mess.”

Slade looks at the bags in her hands and takes them from her, putting a hand to her chest to stop her. “No, no. What was that?” He demands. 

Zatanna rolls her eyes. “I made it disappear.”

“That's not…” He trails off again, looking back down at the bags. They're clean, not a speck of blood on them. “What are you?” 

“A magician, to keep it simple.” She puts her hands in her pockets. “Now, come on. We don't have time to waste.”

Slade decides to continue his interrogation as they walk. “Why are you here?” 

“Helping you two out. A favor to John.”

She's completely composed, not betraying any emotion as he studies her. “Who is John?” 

“An…associate of your son's, to say the least. He'll _hopefully_ be joining soon, but he has some errands to run.” Her composure breaks; she is irritated as she says it, but in the way someone speaks of an annoying friend. 

Slade scowls. “So after this, you head off on your broom?” 

The words make her laugh, a mirthful and innocent laugh. “A witch joke. I love it. You're definitely as smooth in person as you were on camera trying to find Thea Queen.”

“So that's how you know who I am.”

“San Francisco gets Starling, or, sorry,” Zatanna sighs before holding her hands up in mock quotes. “‘Star City’ news. I was home when it happened. I like a good drama.”

“It's not glamorous,” Slade mutters. “It's…” He trails off, not knowing how to express his shame of it with subtleness. He doesn't like thinking about it, thinking about how he was trapped and wrapped in his emotions too much to separate himself and actually be able to step away like he wanted to. 

“And completely different from the monster the media painted you afterwards,” She tuts. “That's a relief.”

“You didn't answer my question,” He retorts heatedly. “What will you do?” 

“Probably help you find the missing son.” She shrugs. “What can I say, I have a soft spot for lost boys.”

Another hand to help Grant. He doesn't know whether it's good or bad, but she seems...resourceful. “Your magic, can you-” He starts to say. 

“Can I fix Kane's behavior?” She finishes for him. When he looks at her in surprise, she shrugs. “You're thinking like a parent, wanting to fix your child's problems. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Your son's behavior isn't fully related to what's inside of him. A lot of it is trauma related, and that is directly hardwired into the mind. I appreciate the immediate faith in my abilities, though. Usually takes a lot longer for people to accept it.”

“I don't have time to doubt it,” Slade mutters. “This set us back by a lot.”

“Not as much as you think, if I have anything to say about it.” 

She sighs when they get to the alley corner and she looks along the wall, tracing along it. “You seem intimate with his affliction.”

“Mirakuru. Originally made in World War Two by the Japanese, the ship ran aground on an island.” He tries his best to keep it factual, detached of feeling. 

“Did you take it to be stronger?” She's smart, quick to draw conclusions. 

“I was dying from wounds. My…friend gave it to me to save me. When they brought me back to ASIS after, they must have found the strain in my blood.” He watches as the blood fades from the wall, leaving it spotless. “I was cured after the Starling Siege, when I was placed in custody of ARGUS.”

Zatanna nods absently, still erasing blood. “What exactly are the symptoms?”

Slade sighs, trying to gather them without dwelling on memories. “For me, I was irrationally angry, focusing only on revenge against…someone. It was hard to be brought out of my fits. Hallucinations were also a common side effect. But I healed faster, all of my senses were heightened, I could take bullets to the chest without a worry.”

Zatanna hums. “He doesn't seem angry. Then again, from what I understand, he's responsible for that nasty cut on your neck.” 

His hand touches the cut gingerly. “Last night was…”

“Something I can help try to prevent.” Just like that, the place is clean, death no longer coating the ground and walls. She turns to him, motioning for him to closer. “Let me heal that.”

He wants to deny her, but his curiosity wins out and he steps forward. Her hand is warm as she caresses over the cut, and it feels like a ray of sunshine directed on his neck. She pulls back, lifting his chin with scrutiny. “Not my worst work,” She notes. “Shouldn't be a scar.” She looks up, studying his face. “I thought you were missing an eye.” 

He touches the watchlike device on his wrist, flipping the disguise off. “My own kind of magic.”

With an amused hum and without a second glance, she starts walking out of the alley, pulling out her phone. “How stocked is your fridge?”

He switches the hologuise back on as he joins her on the sidewalk. “We've been mostly grabbing takeout,” Slade grumbles, not pleased with it. 

Neither is she; her lips purse at the news. “How much did you eat when you were afflicted?” 

“I…barely remember,” He confesses. “I feel like it was quite a bit.”

Zatanna nods. “Does Kane eat much?” 

“Almost nothing.”

She huffs, folding her arms. “Do what you will. Just be back at the hotel in four hours.”  

“Where are you going?” Slade asks, following her as she walks down the sidewalk. 

“Grocery shopping.”

Slade clicks his tongue before following her, hot on her heels as she heads towards the heart of the city.

* * *

The sound of something sizzling stirs Kane from his slumber. He sits up, blinking his eyes to try to focus. Zatanna has shed her jacket, showing off her arms and part of her back. The same tattoo that John has on his forearm rests on her left bicep, dragon and shield almost glittering - no, it is glittering, like a million galaxies are stuck inside of it. She's busy over the stove, and a song plays out of the small speaker on the counter next to her. 

_“It's the wrong time for somebody new, it's a small crime and I got no excuse…”_

The acoustic guitar on the song is low, vibrating. The man's voice is scratchy, and he can hear Zatanna singing under her breath along with it. He looks over to his father, noting that the wound from last night is gone. Slade sits in the chair, looking over the laptop with renewed interest. It's just now sunset; he's been sleeping for almost half the day. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, drawing attention from both of them. 

“Morning, starshine,” Zatanna coos. “I made paninis.”

Kane nods sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He actually feels like he's well rested for once, too content to be able to decline food as she hands him a plate. The first bite of food makes his toes curl; who learned cooking from the other when it comes to Zatanna and John? He watches Zatanna slide a plate toward Slade, and he looks at it in surprise before looking up at her. “What?” She asks. “Everyone here needs to eat. That includes you.”

He looks back down before turning back to the laptop. At first glance, it looks like he's ignoring it, but as Kane eats his sandwich, he notices that his father's plate loses food slowly. It's easier to know they're both ‘suffering’, and Zatanna eats with them, prim and proper as she tries to look over Slade's shoulder. When he shoots her a dirty look, she shrugs. “Just trying to help. I know things got set back with last night somewhat.”

“If you can get past heavy security and a keypad, sure,” Slade scoffs. “You can help.”

Zatanna hums, drumming her fingers along the desk. “Like it's that hard,” She muses. 

Slade gives her another look, this time more skeptical. “Sure.”

But Kane knows. He knows of what tricks John always has up his sleeve, he knows that Zatanna is so much more than meets the eye. Her smile all but confirms it, impish and mischievous. “I guess we'll see,” She says, simple and dismissive. 

* * *

The three of them observe the two buildings from the lookout, and Zatanna hums to herself as she watches. People exit out of the building, and it's hard to tell which of them she's watching out for. A woman comes out and she perks up. After a few seconds, she taps the desk. “Okay, be right back.”

They both watch as she flounces out of the room, disappearing down the steps. Kane turns to his father, waiting with dreaded anticipation. “You're not going to ask?” 

“Thought I wasn't allowed to ask questions,” Slade replies as he stares out the window.

“Not about the family,” Kane corrects before he can realize what's he saying. He should've just let his father believe that it wasn't allowed.

Slade studies him for a second before looking back out. “When did it happen?” 

“They sent us to Lian Yu after your…?”

“Rampage? Breakdown?”

“Sure, let's go with that.” Kane rests his head against the wall. “There was a second crate we found after finding Uncle Billy. We were ordered to bring it back to headquarters. After a week of being home, Wade asked me if I wanted to protect what loved ones I had left.” He gives a half shrug. “The rest is history.”

“So right after that breakdown.” Slade's face twists into something he can't place, turning away. “Was there anyone else?” 

“No, they all died. Except for me. Pulled the good straw.” 

It's a lie, a forceful lie that Kane prays isn't noticeable. The name of the other survivor, his compatriot, buries itself deep into his heart so it isn't easily read. 

“You just took it? Without hesitation?” The tone Slade takes is surprisingly parental, chastising him. 

“Well, better me than someone else,” Kane spits back at him. 

“You saw what happened to me! What I became! What could have possibly made you-” Slade stops himself, visibly backstepping. “So if I came back, you would've been there to stop me. ‘Where were you when DeForge was there to talk me into becoming a force that would go toe to toe with Deathstroke the Terminator?’”

Kane doesn't say anything, letting the silence answer for him. 

Slade lets the silence hang for a bit before asking solemnly, “Is that what happened with Grant?” 

It's an outlash, a build up of talking about things he wants to forget. “I thought I told you-” He starts to hiss. 

The door opens again, and they both turn to see Zatanna with a laptop in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. “Alright, let's go. Got what we needed.”

Slade stares at her hands, trying to formulate words. Kane himself is impressed; he had expected someone who could help them, not someone who would carry their asses to the finish line. “How?” Slade asks after a few seconds. 

Zatanna smiles. “I asked nicely.”

* * *

She _has_ to be a witch. 

On the paper in swirly, legible handwriting, was a username and password. While it didn't access all the files, it did reveal about half of the first laptop's contents. The second one was stored away as ‘evidence’ from when one of the villas was raided. Only one person lived there, and he had made it out just before ASIS broke down the door. 

They have Grant's laptop. 

He'd been right, they were protecting it underneath there and trying to break into it. The biometrics on the laptop were state of the art, though; Grant's financer didn't pull any punches, and Slade knew she wouldn't. Curiously enough, Grant's prints weren't the only ones on it, as they'd found out when Kane swiped his thumb over the pad. How that one was managed is a mystery, one not even Zatanna can fully explain. Slade switches between sneaking glances at Zatanna as she drives, hoping she'll reveal her secrets, and over the headrest of the passenger seat at Kane as he goes through the laptop, eyes wide as he scrolls through documents and files. Zatanna focuses on the road, her music playing quietly to fill the silence. 

_“You could wear a bow tie, I could wear a gold dress, I could be your side bitch, you could be my heart's fix…”_

“Kane, anything good?” Slade asks, finally working up the nerve to say something. 

Kane shakes his head, voice calm and absent. “No, still looking.”

Zatanna hums. “Did you eat your sandwich?” 

There's a pause, followed by the sound of cellophane being unwrapped. A couple seconds goes by and Kane responds grumpily with, “Yes.”

She preens. “So, then. Where to?” 

“Contact of mine suggested Wales. There's a lot more activity from Grant up there.” Keys clack as he types something in. “How easily can we get there?” 

“Depends on how fast you want to get there and how much magic you can handle.”

“Like on a scale of one to ten?” Kane asks. 

“Sure, let's go with that.” 

“So where does disappearing a body to rate at?” Slade snarks. 

“About a three, if I'm going to be honest. That's a usual thing being John's friend,” Zatanna answers. 

“A solid four then.”

“As much as I'm curious about anything higher, I have to agree,” Kane sighs. 

“Alright, let's at least find somewhere to sleep for the day.” Zatanna looks down at the radio and frowns at the song, instead pressing the next button. The song is upbeat, guitar thrumming to life. 

_“Yeah, but nobody searches, nobody cares somehow. When the loving that you've wasted comes raining from a hapless cloud…”_

Zatanna huffs. “Damn occultist.”

Kane perks his head up. “John?” 

“He made a playlist on my phone. Didn't know what it was or when he did it, but this is his style.” Despite her irritation, she smiles softly as she glances at the radio. “Foolish man.”

* * *

She finds them a small hotel to sleep in, taking two rooms for the three of them. “Three rooms would be too suspicious, so we're only getting two. I don't care about sharing,” Zatanna says, holding the keys out. “I just need to know how we're going to do this.”

Kane takes a key as Slade hesitates, waiting for his son to make the choice. “I just want to be alone tonight.”

Before Slade can say anything more, Zatanna nods. “Okay, sounds good. Knock if you need anything.”

Kane ducks into his room without another word. Zatanna opens their door, swinging her bag onto the table. She digs her clothing out, pausing as if she realizes that she's not alone. “I have to ask for you to not ask about it.”

He furrows his brow. “Ask about what?” 

“You'll know when you see it.” She looks up at him with a small grimace. “Promise me.”

He's needled her all day for information, and she's given answers, despite it being the bare basics save for information on herself. Only now she asks for him to stop his interrogation? What is so serious for her to ask for privacy when she's been such an open book about herself? “Okay, I promise,” Slade agrees. 

She takes her clothes into the bathroom, and he rummages through his own bag to find something to sleep in besides his slightly blood encrusted clothes before hearing the door click open. His curiosity needs to be sated, and all he needs is one glance to see what she means. 

It's angry, mottled flesh that looks deadly, like something ripped itself out of her skin and sliced her up on the way out. It starts at her shoulder and snakes under the tanktop, leaving it up to his imagination on how far it goes down. The turtleneck she's been wearing all day is perfect for covering it, shielding prying eyes from it, but not suitable for this temperature nor sleepwear. A sickly glowing yellow seems to course through it like a thin vein, and it's only noticeable because of how dark it is. A small white rabbit rests at the top of her tanktop, nestled at the beginning of her cleavage. “What's that?” 

Her look is stormy. “I told you-” 

He shakes his head, tapping the middle of his chest. She looks down, raising her eyebrows at the rabbit as if she didn't know it was there. “Oh.” She rubs over the rabbit, as if petting it, and it shakes its head awake before moving through onto her hand. “Her name is Clarice. Clary, for short.”

Slade nods dumbly. “Magic?” 

Zatanna gives him a smile. “Would it be anything else?” 

“What is it-sorry, she for or represent?” 

“Connection. Comfort.” The rabbit runs up her arm, tucking herself behind Zatanna's ear and Zatanna chuckles. “Okay, but only for today. You're going back to the hip tomorrow.”

She pulls back the covers and settles in. Instead of talking further, Slade goes into the bathroom, trying to have _some_ kind of normalcy as he washes himself down now that he actually has the time for it. When he comes out, she's already tucked herself in, pillow tucked under her cheek and arms wrapped around it. The dragon and shield tattoo glitters softly from the sunrise, and the glow in her scar pulses just enough to be noticeable. As he lays down in the other bed, he stares at the scar on her collarbone. What could have done something so monstrous?

The thought spirals out, giving him a new respect for her. If she could survive something that's so damaging, so vicious, she must be stronger than she lets on. Her obvious care for his son, whether it's just because of John or something deeper, is something that he desperately needs; Slade can barely get the boy to eat, but she won't take no as an answer from Kane. She's matronly without a thought, and Slade wonders what led her to this step in her life. She's a unique oddity, and he itches to know why she is the way she is. Where is her magic from? How did she grow up into such a vibrant yet tender person? 

He's still hesitant to trust her; he's met nicer people that have literally stabbed him in the back. She's almost perfect, too perfect, but there's a certain pain in her eyes that stops him from thinking that. What has she seen? What magical things that go bump in the night has her scared? What keeps her sane, keeps her from going mad if they're so terrifying? Where does this John fit into all of this? 

His burning need for answers keeps him awake and he's startled as her hands drift over the space between their beds. Her eyes flutter open and her lips are pursed in annoyance. “Go to sleep,” She mumbles grumpily. 

“How did you-” 

“I'm empathetic, I can tell what general mood people are in. And you're restless. Give me your hand.”

Slade scoffs. “So you can put me under your spell?” 

Zatanna sighs, pulling herself up. “What else will help?” 

Slade thinks for a second. “What's your interest in my son? Just because of your mutual connection?” 

Zatanna blinks awake. “If that's what it takes to sate your restlessness. No, it's not just because of John. As I said before, I have a thing for lost boys. Not a _thing_ ,” She emphasizes. “But I'm a chronic sucker for people who need help. Which Kane definitely is. Maybe not to the average eye…” She pauses, guilty as she looks away from Slade's face. “Your son is plagued by many things. As are you. At first it was to see if I could help your wrench in the gears, but I had already figured that wasn't the only part of the machine that wasn't working properly.”

“You actually want to help?” Slade asks. 

Zatanna nods. “To the best of my ability with consent. I'm not just going to talk logomancy and vanish. You both have problems that need actual constant attention and work.” She settles back around her pillow like a cat. “In essence, you both need fucking therapy.”

Slade jerks his head up at her swear before going over her other words. “Logomancy?” The word is weird as he tries to say it, working itself off his tongue awkwardly. 

“I cast spells by saying them backwards,” She groans as she rolls over. “Go to sleep.”

Slade rests back into his pillow, finally having at least one question answered. He still ponders his other ones, and with another groan, she sits up, glaring at him. 

“I swear to everything infernal and celestial, if you don't go to sleep-”

“Do the spell.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh?” 

Slade shoots her a feeble glare. “Just do it before I change my mind.”

Zatanna rolls her eyes before reaching over to touch his hand. _“Xaler, tser, dna peels.”_

A wave of immediate grogginess hits him and he pulls his hand back limply. Her expression softens and she hums, turning her back to him as she pulls the blankets over herself. It feels like everything is working itself out inside him, and when he closes his eyes, he does not open them again for the rest of the time the sun is over them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used, in order:
> 
> 9 Crimes (demo) - Damien Rice  
> Fillin' in for a Goddess - Charlene Remitz  
> Slow Hands - Interpol


	6. ghosts in the halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People don't just change like that, the fundamentals don't just change completely.
> 
> Unless she's mourning.

-a month and three weeks ago-

 

He looks up at her townhouse, holding her pendant in his hand. He's known where she was for a week, nestled deep in the heart of Cairo, but fear is like shackles around his feet, keeping him from actually walking up and ringing the doorbell. He can feel Alastair wriggling against his hip, excited to see her again. He wonders if Clarice is just as energetic, feeling him close enough to yell her name to her window like a stupid eighties flick. With a slow step, he walks up and lays his hand on the door before a burst of energy makes him knock. 

_You could run, she won't catch you-_

Too late, he can hear her heels clicking on the floor, the ever so blessed sound that could get him to his knees in record time. Her door opens, and there she is in a stuffy turtleneck. Her eyes are beyond tired, and she's a little pale, but still every bit perfect as the first day he saw her performing. She's alive, breathing and heart beating. Her eyes light up, and her hand grips the doorframe tightly. Before she can say anything, John holds up the pendant with a nervous smile. “Found something of yours.”

The light in her eyes dies out, and Zatanna looks at the pendant as if _it's_ the years old ex that keeps fucking her off and fucking her over. “What do you want?” 

It's said with such a defeated tone that he almost steps back, but instead he forces his dazzling grin on. “In, for starters. I haven't had a good cup of tea in for awhile now.”

She looks down at the ground before opening the door wider, inviting him in. The decor is nothing compared to what she used to have; everything is a rustic neutral color, plain ordinary furniture that he'd expected someone average to have. She brushes by him as she heads into another room. All of this feels wrong. She is the only thing right, of course; even with his eyes ripped out, he'd be able to pick her out from a crowd of the entire world's population. But her attitude, what she's surrounding herself with, it feels like a bad nightmare. He can't sense any demon, any supernatural entity or curse that could be making her like this, so what is it? He stands by her bookshelf, quietly glancing over her collection. 

_Did she keep it? Is it here?_

No. He hisses to himself, shoving his hands in his pocket to grab the sharpest thing he can. This is what got him to where he's at in life in the first place. Forget about _it_. 

She comes back out with two cups on a tray with milk and a jar of honey next to it. As she sets it down on the table, she gives him an apathetic look. “Go ahead and have a seat,” She says, and it's so hollow and broken that his heart cracks at the sound of it. He can't take his eyes off her as he sits, and he looks down at the cup of tea, realizing partly why he's so unnerved by this. “Why didn't you use magic to summon the tea?” 

She freezes, almost putting too much milk in her tea. There's a few seconds of silence before she takes a careful sip, calm and collected. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Now, what did you come here for?” 

John's holding onto the pendant still, and he hands it to her. “I came for you,” He says, vulnerable. 

Her eyes widen in a type of fear before she laughs lowly. “I'm just a stage magician, sleight of hand. Why are you coming to me for anything? Aren't you some master of the dark arts?”

John smiles thinly. “Not exactly. Still haven't gotten my new business cards in. Don't exactly like being so pretentious.”

Zatanna drinks her tea, still not making eye contact nor taking the pendant. “You haven't answered my question.”

“Zee, please talk to me-” 

As he reaches out, she hisses, flinching away from his touch. “Don't. I don't know what game you're playing, but I won't stand for it. Not again.”

Again? John lets the pendant fall out of his hand, instead getting to his knees in front of her. “Zee, please, talk to me-” 

“Stop it,” She whispers, cup falling out of her hand and she covers her ears as she closes her eyes. “You know nothing about me. You don't know me.”

The words cut through his spine the way she chokes on them. He knows something that he could say, but the word nearly bites at his tongue with shame. He has to though, has to prove that it's him, that he remembers everything finally, that he's come back to her, tail tucked between his legs. With a grimace and sigh, he pulls her arms away with a gentle force and meets her eyes, saying the one word her and Nick used to use when he knew he was about to be punished. His lips curl without hesitance but he still forces it out. “Peaches.”

Just like that, the light in her eyes is back again. He's tackled onto his back as she wraps her arms around him tightly. “It's really you,” She breathes. 

“It's me, Zee.” He pulls her as close as he can, and he can feel their magic intertwine like old friends. Clary and Alastair meet at her shoulder and his forearm, pressing themselves against skin to feel each other as much as possible. He tucks himself underneath her chin. “Oh God, I've been so lost without you.”

“I know the feeling,” She sniffles, burying her nose into his hair. 

His head rests on her chest, and he can hear her heartbeat going so fast, so free. “What did you mean ‘again’, Zee?” 

She freezes before pulling away from him. “Slip of the tongue.” As she magics the spilled cup away, he pulls himself up. There's still something innately wrong with this. Her shoulders are drawn back, like she's ready for a fight. “Do you want to go out for food?”

The question throws him off, and he stammers. “W-what?” 

Zatanna turns and smiles, and it shatters his heart into a million shards because it's the same smile she gave her father, the smile of ‘I love you but I can't trust you not to hurt me’. “Let's go and get something to eat. You can catch me up on what's been happening with you.”

No, it's not supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be them cuddled up on the couch and figuring out where they stand or her throwing punches at him in sheer anger. Not her being…detached. There's too much history between them for her to be so closed off, isn't there? 

“Sure,” He agrees, and as she grabs her purse and keys off the kitchen counter, he feels a sharp stab of emotional pain. 

There may be a lot of history between them, but he's the one who forced himself to completely forget it all. 

* * *

She's gorgeous even under the harsh lights of the restaurant. 

The whole entire ride over was quiet, Clary bundled up at her wrist as she held her arms to her chest. He can feel the tension Zatanna carries even as she eats. “So what tricks have you been up to?” She asks, and it's wrong, all so wrong, not the right tone, not the right everything. 

“I don't want to talk about myself, Zee.” He looks up from his plate. “Why aren't you with Boston and company?” 

Her face contorts painfully, and she wipes her mouth with her napkin. “I couldn't stay after that. Not after knowing what they chose to do.”

John lets out a humorless laugh. “Right. Well, it's not the worst choice they've made.”

Zatanna smiles bitterly. “One of them.”

“So what have you been doing then?” 

Zatanna shrugs. “Shows here and there. Not much else.”

“In Cairo? I'm sure there's trouble you're getting into,” John teases. 

The way she reacts, body twitching and lips thinning in pain, makes him worried. “Trouble's not a worry here.”

“Zee, what's wrong?” 

She gives him a pained smile. “Nothing's wrong.”

“Obviously, something's quite wrong,” He snaps. “This isn't you, Zee. Your behavior, your smile, your apartment, even your bloody wardrobe.”

She deflates, wrapping her arms around herself. “Things change.”

“Not like that, not for you.” He's only picked at his food, and he shoves it to the side. “What happened to my stars in the sky?” 

Zatanna shakes her head wordlessly. They sit in silence for what seems to be eternity, and as he slumps back, she drops her head down. “Please don't leave me.”

It's said with a cracked voice, full of fear and hopelessness. John reaches across, and Alastair swims up his arm to meet Clary at Zatanna's forearm. “I'm not leaving, we've still got food to finish.” He knows she doesn't mean just now at the restaurant, but he can't promise her something when she's already about to cry because of him. 

She looks up, eyes watery. “You weren't supposed to ever find me again.”

It's not meant in mean spirit, and he knows this as he smiles gently. “I've never been good at doing what I'm supposed to do. Not when it comes to you.”

She laughs, wiping her eyes. “Don't I know it.”

John pulls his food back. He's putting her through the ringer for this; he might as well answer her. “I've been busy,” He admits. “Time travelling. Making sure time itself doesn't go all pear shaped.”

Zatanna smiles, and it's the first sincere smile she's given him. “So something meaningful.”

“Yeah, if you want to put it that way…” John gives her a pitying look. “It's upsetting that I have the more exciting life right now.”

“What do you want to hear, that I got married to Sebastian Faust?” Zatanna snorts. 

John clutches his chest, leaning against the table. “Say it isn't so. Such perfection wasted on such plainness.”

She laughs joyfully, and it gives him a different sense of hope than Kane did. With her, it's cozying up in bed for an afternoon nap, but with Kane, it was the campfire feel and looking at constellations for the longest time. The thoughts of the man makes John stare off for a second, and Zatanna latches onto it. “But _you_ found someone,” She says with soft warmth. 

He doesn't expect her to take it so well, so…caring, but once again, he's put too little faith in her. “Yeah, kinda. He's, uh…different.”

“Everyone that you sleep with is different.” Zatanna takes a drink of the tea in front of her. “It's why you sleep with them.”

“I…” John swallows. “Zee, the connection, it's bad.”

“It can't be that bad,” She says, rolling her eyes. 

“I left the lighter with him,” He squeaks. 

Zatanna's eyes widen; she knows the importance of it, knows how many years he's kept it safe ever since Nick first gave it to him for his twenty fourth birthday. “On purpose?” 

“I wanted to make sure he was okay, he had to go get his brother and make sure he was alright.” John runs his hand through his hair. “He's been good so far emotionally, a little frustrated.”

She ponders his words as she stares down at her chai. “Describe him to me.”

“He's got brown hair, blue eyes, gorgeously blue eyes, a little bit of scruff, and he seems lean but he's got so much muscle lurking under his frame.” He scowls at her snort. “What?” 

“No, please continue,” She says, encouraging him with a wave of her hand. “I haven't read a romance novel in ages and it's nice to hear one read aloud.”

His brow furrows. “It's not… you're embarrassing me, Zee.”

“Come on. What's he do for a living?”

“He's a mercenary, sort of?” John ponders it. “He used to be intelligence.”

“Where's he from?”

John covers his eyes. “Australia.”

She can't stop laughing. “The Great Constantine, once slandering Australia for its creatures, now humbled by a denizen of the country.”

“No, shut up, he's perfect!” John points at her. “He hates the spiders too.”

“How adorable,” She hums. “So he treats you right?”

“Sort of…?” John hesitates, backpedaling when Zatanna's brow furrows. “He's not intentionally being bad! He just… there's things I know that he's not sharing with me.”

“Like?”

“So I met him at a youth hostel in Tibet. As soon as he came into the room, something felt…different about him. I did what any normal person and sorta kinda maybe stole his knapsack.” John shrugs at her glare. “Look, you know all the shit I've been through, it's good to be safe. So when I went through it, I found a chain. It had two pairs of dog tags and two rings on it.”

Zatanna frowns as she drinks her tea. “Well now.”

“i may or may not have done a scour spell. May or may not have figured out he had a dead significant other.” John fiddles with his sleeve. “I don't want to push it. I didn't mean to find out so much in so little time.”

“But you still fell for him anyways.” Zatanna leans back, scrutinizing him, and he can tell she's sensing his feelings. “You slept with him, still knowing that.”

John scratches at his neck. “Don't make me feel guilty, Zee. He's his own person.”

“I know that whether or not I brought it up, it'd still weigh on your mind. But yes, you're right, he's his own person.” Zatanna raises an eyebrow. “He helped you find me?” 

“Yes.”

“Does he know what I mean to you?” 

John starts laughing. “Love, I don't even know what you mean to me.” Her face falls slightly, and he sighs at himself. “By which I mean, you mean a lot, and I don't know how high it goes.”

That seems to fix things as far as the relationship matter; she instead lets out a huff. “You're deflecting, so I'll take that as a no, he doesn't know we were serious.”

“Still are.” He realizes what he said, and he stutters. “Just not romantically, of course. If you still want to be. Platonically, that is.”

Zatanna gives him a sad smile. “We'll see if it works out.”

He wants to be crestfallen, but it's still hope. It's still her saying there's a chance. 

* * *

He sets up camp on her couch, even though she offered her guest room. There's still something that feels off, that lays on his tongue like a bitter herb. 

_Maybe it's the fact that your homicidal ex is the one that directed you to here._

Yes, for all the bullshit that Nick Necro has put them through, the fact that he had the balls to show up on the Waverider shows growth in Nick's bastardly ways. While it may have been painful, because only God knows how hard Nick can throw painful barbs, it did bring back his memories of Zatanna. 

His beautiful, glorious, perfect ex-girlfriend. 

John furrows his brow as he thinks back to Nick's words as John laid on the Waverider's floor, memories reconstructing themselves like the worst hangover known to man. 

_I'm coming for her, Johnny, and there's not a thing you can do about it._

But she's fine, alive and breathing, not the sobbing and broken mess at her desk that Nick had shown of her. She's a bit underweight; the sweater she wears is too slack for her frame. He wonders if he could see the ghastly sight of her ribs against her skin, and he snarls at the thought. What has happened that made her give up on her health, her wellbeing? 

It worries him down to his soul of what's going on, and he gets up to pace around the house like a ghost on a cold night. She already showed him where the bathroom and her room was, but he knows there's more to this place than she lets on. True to form, her study is much too big to fit the physical dimensions of the townhouse, and he looks around, searching for anything that could give him a hint. His eyes lock onto a pendant on her desk, and he sneers at the sight of the ankh. Nabu is just asking for an ass kicking if he's talking to Zatanna. She's always been marked as a potential host ever since she was young, and John's not about to let some parasitic force of ‘good’ decide that now is the time to possess her. He wants to shake her awake, ask her why, but as he's about to knock on her bedroom door, he realizes that he doesn't get that right. He wiped every trace of her love from his mind, and when that didn't work-

_He was aiming for Boston, he swears, he was aiming for the ghost that triggered a massive mental breakdown, but she dove in the way, altruistic to a fault, and in the moment the spell hit her chest, all of their love for each other floods him, and he watched as Asa tries to stem the copious amounts of golden blood gushing out of Zatanna's chest. His love, his soulmate, he did this to her, he thinks as he collapses to his knees in horror._

-he made himself forget her entirely. 

_His father's den was dingy, air stale with the lack of cleanliness. John sat in his old chair, letting out a long sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a photograph. Odd, he thought as he picked it up, his father wasn't the sentimental type- A choked gasp lodged in his throat as he looked at Zatanna and Gemma, happily making flower chains in the back of Cheryl's yard. He flipped the photograph over, ice chilling over in his veins._

I miss her like I miss breathing, don't you? I'll come for the one that is in your heart, the one that will make you take knee and beg for death from the one that cheats it _is written in someone else's handwriting, but every word is Nick's own prose. It sent every fear of his spiraling, and he shuddered as he realized what he had to do. Gemma couldn't hold her own against Nick, against the uncle that she doted and loved like he really was her family, but Zatanna could. Maybe not in her current condition, but Boston and friends wouldn't let anything get to her. So what if-_

_His throat swelled as he thought about the true brevity of his thoughts. If he forgot her, wiped every memory of her away, so much of his behavior would be undone. So much of who he was as a core human being, so much of who he was as a mage. She was everything to him, his light when things got bad, he'd already thrown her away once, so why is it so hard to do it again?_

_She'll be safer if you don't know who she is. All you ever do is bring people pain._

_That's the defining factor of it. She needs to be safe. He was the Laughing Magician, and she a deity that didn't realize her potential yet; all he was good for was taking her apart. He wouldn't ruin her for everyone else, ruin such joy and love when someone else who wasn't beyond saving needed it. He was a lost cause, one she needed to stop giving chances._

_As he readies the spell, he looks at Alastair, the koi swimming up to his hand as if trying to stop him. They'd gotten the children together, the creatures representing what the other meant to them._

_“You should go, Zee. People drop around me like goldfish.”_

_“I'm a koi, love,” She rebutted. “I'm hard to kill.”_

_“You could do better than a drowned rat you pulled out of a gutter,” He scoffed._

_“More like a lucky rabbit out of my hat.”_

_Would she know the moment he casted it? What would happen to Clarice, the rabbit that bounds across her hips like his love for her does? What would happen to the coven mark, dragon and shield on his forearm like a safe haven for magic when the darkness is too much? He stops thinking about it, and with a whisper of “I'm sorry”, he releases the spell. Alastair fades away like paper burning up from a match, and in an instant, he wants to take it back, he made a mistake, no please, he doesn't want to lose her-_

He lays back down on the couch, covering his eyes with his arm; he deserves every bit of the haunting pain that the memories bring, but that doesn't mean he has to like how it soaks into his muscles like needles. He can't leave now, can't leave until she's safe from all the dangers of the world. The only thing he wants to do is lay with her, pull her tight to him, and feel her heartbeat with his. He'll have to settle for the dull thud from the coven mark. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support, loves! I'm working on another piece for this verse, but all it took to finish this was finding my Bluetooth keyboard, so we should be smooth sailing for a couple of chapters c:


	7. nostalgic reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not only fighting the past and the present, but the future is behind him with a 2x4 ready to swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on a roll bby
> 
> Where's this creative energy for my other fics orz

-a month ago-

 

He carries the groceries over his shoulder, ingredients for lunch bouncing around inside. She's been eating the last few weeks he's been there thankfully, but he does suppose it's partially due to his cooking skills. She's in her study when he brings her food up, eyes looking over a pamphlet for a nearby museum. “Come on, Zee, why would you want to go there when you could just go to Shadowcrest and see much better artifacts?”

Zatanna stiffens and looks away. “Not really particular on visiting my father's house right now.”

“Isn't it your house too?” John asks. 

“It's not home,” Zatanna says, hushed and sad. 

John takes in the words as he sits on her windowsill, looking out onto the street. She's much more vibrant again, moving with a sense of purpose, even if her magic is dulled by lack of use. He glances up every now and again, making sure she's eating the crepes he made. She leans back in her chair, shoving her hands into the pocket of her hoodie, and only now does he recognize the logo on the front. “Zee, is that the old Mucous Membrane design?” 

She looks down at it, shrugging. “The tee you gave me was falling apart, so I added extra fabric and turned it into a hoodie.”

He smiles. “How nostalgic of you.”

She hums, looking over the papers on her desk again. 

“Aren't you hot in that, love?” 

“It's fine,” She dismisses. 

John frowns, turning back to the street. There's something she's hiding, something more than just Nabu and Doctor Fate lurking around the corner. What is the angle that he's missing here? 

* * *

The clock chimes four times and he wakes up to the sound of light sobbing. He shoves his coat off of him, bounding up the stairs in a panic because he's heard that crying before, crying that sounds like angels and demons coming together to mourn the death of a perfect being. He knocks on her door, still wanting to respect her space. “Zatanna? Are you okay?”

The sobbing quiets and he hears movement in the bedroom. “I'm fine,” She says, and he swears he's reliving the night after Nick was dragged to Hell with how her voice is frail and full of lies.

“Zee, please, let me in,” He pleads. “Need to know you're safe.”

He hears more movement before she opens up, robe tightly wrapped around her. “See? I'm fine.”

But he can see how red her eyes are, how her lips tremble, and how weak she's become in just a night. “Zatanna, you look like you've been possessed by a ghost.” He reaches for her but she shies away. 

“I'm fine, John, just go lay back down,” She mutters, closing the door. 

The click of the lock makes him look down at his feet, feeling completely useless. It wasn't normal crying, it wasn't the crying she'd had the first time she'd watched Grave of the Fireflies; it was the kind that was in wretched pain. He shuffles back down, eyes narrowing as he looks around. No, there's something afoul here, and he doesn't like it one bit. 

The feeling he gets as he opens his magic kit is almost like guilt, but he feels validated as he remembers the look on her face, scared and haunted. This isn't her, he knows it isn't, and there's a gut feeling that it's been quiet up until he came along. The guilt returns in a different cloak, but he can't let it affect him, can't let her wither away as he runs off into the night. If this is his fault, he'll spend his entire life making it right. She doesn't deserve him running every time he makes it hard for them, she deserves him putting every bit of effort into their relationship. After all, what did she do relentlessly throughout the entirety of knowing each other if not putting effort in? 

He draws a circle underneath her rug, not wanting the evidence to be known right away; if it's something demonic, he doesn't want it to trigger a possession. Rolling up his cuffs, he spreads salt along the circle, thick and heavy. What does he say, who does he call on for someone whose soul isn't wholly human? He sits outside the circle, trying to think of someone spiritual who can answer him, someone that Zatanna believes in without a doubt, and the name flies around before resting on the tip of his tongue. 

“In the name of the Voidmother, show me what haunts Zatanna Zatara.” He repeats himself over and again, though he can feel the magic static in the air from the first utterance of it. A wind blows through the room, and he opens his eyes to see an orb form in the middle of the circle. It shows a body, forming into the shape of a demon sitting on Zatanna's chest. A mare. He tries to think about how it's getting in, because the house should be completely locked down from any demonic energy entering in. 

But what if they make a door inside? 

“I will never forget your help,” He says, dismissing the fragmented spirit of Sindella, not wanting to keep her grounded to this realm any further. He feels a caress against his cheek before she goes off, going back to the realm of the Magi. It's a heavy thing, knowing she can't come back to help her daughter, stuck in her home realm forever now, only able to send off ghosts of herself to answer. But at least she's more willing to be there for her daughter than her father is. 

John stands up, flipping the rug over the circle. He'll tell her as soon as he gets rid of the mare. If there's one thing he might be better than her at, it's exorcising demons that have no right being where they are. But it's five in the morning, too late to start his work, but tomorrow, tomorrow, whatever dream demon is haunting his soulmate, it's fucking dead the moment he lays his hands on it. 

* * *

She's colder in the morning-no, not cold, never cold. More like reserved, keeping away from him as she goes about her normal routine. When he comes into her study, she freezes, waiting to see what he'll do. He puts the sandwich on the corner of the table, maintaining as much distance as possible. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, bracing himself for a lashing. 

Zatanna shakes her head, crossing her arms to hug herself. “It's nothing.”

“Okay,” John says, sitting in one of the chairs across from her. “What can I do to help, then?” 

She worries at her lip, looking out the window in thought. “I just need…space. For now. It's not your fault, I promise.”

John nods, getting up from the chair. “I'll be downstairs, then.”

Each step away from her feels wrong, but he can't ignore her wishes. He wonders what was so bad about her nightmare that she needs space from him, but he quickly shoves it out of his mind; her bedroom is empty, and he has work to do. 

The first thing he notices when he goes in is the light scent of something burnt. He takes out an ultraviolet pen and light, slowly tracing a circle under her furniture and bed, using the light to make sure it stays even. It all has to be custom work, and he's glad he stayed up past sunrise in order to sketch it out. He needs to take a nap, but he has to finish this first, has to set it up as perfect as can be so he can get rid of the mare as soon as it appears. The troubling part, he thinks about as he finishes the inside touches, is that he doesn't know why. Hell as a whole should know that she's off limits, and shouldn't even want anything from her; she's Magi, on a separate plane from Heaven, Hell, and humans. What did she do that warrants an attack like this? 

At last, he finishes, and he does a precise check on it to make sure that it'll hold up. Before he goes, he presses his left arm to the circle, and the coven tattoo nearly vibrates as magic flows into the circle. His love, his protection, his need to keep her safe. His hand balls into a fist. He's let her down for too long, and he's going to do it right this time. 

John closes her bedroom door without a sound, checking the time. It's been two hours and she hasn't left her study at all. When he opens the door, her head is resting in her arms, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. His fingers itch to run his hand through her hair, to comfort her, but he abstains, instead letting her enjoy a moment of serenity. The couch calls to him, but he makes sure to leave out a plate of sliced fruit for her when she awakes before cuddling into the cushions of the sofa.

* * *

Every second counts down, anger and anticipation heightening with every tick. It rings at four again, and it's not just a sobbing but a bloodcurdling scream. John flies up the stairs and kicks her door open, focusing on the mare that perks up from sitting on the bed frame at Zatanna's feet as he crashes down, touching the sigil as he mutters the incantation. It glows red and the mare hisses at John, whipping around to get his full attention. Two figures build themselves to either side of the bed, and his heart plummets as mirrors of Nick and himself form. It's twisted mirrors, though; some of their veins and arteries pulse black like the night, and their skin is paler than any human skin he's seen before, and that's saying something for Nick. They both turn to him, unnerving grins on their faces. Oh, goodie. Three mares. “Well, he actually is here,” Nightmare Nick remarks. 

“Thought it was just her imagination,” Nightmare John replies. “You know, after seeing her father the other night.”

Why would hallucinating Giovanni Zatara be on the same level as hallucinating him? John glares at the both of them, setting his thoughts aside. Not now, not when he needs to show this mare why it shouldn't have come here. “Name your sender, mare.”

The Nightmares look at each other, grinning like demented twins. “Should we answer him?” Nightmare Nick asks. 

“I thought that was the plan all along.” The nightmare version of himself gives Zatanna a lecherous look. “Mammon has been quite interested in her soul, ever since she spoiled a deal for him.”

“She can't go to Heaven or Hell,” John corrects. “She's Magi, no celestial or infernal agent has dominion over her.”

“The Magi part of her soul, sure,” Nightmare Nick chimes.

“But the human part of her soul is still very much able to be decided over,” Nightmare John coos. “And with it, the Magi part of her soul falls into either celestial or infernal control.”

“Along with her magic,” Nightmare Nick concludes. 

“We have you to thank, really. Coming in with demon blood was as good an invitation in as any. The only reason why she's having these nightmares is because she's afraid of you leaving.” His nightmare self gestures to her shivering frame. “Even if she alerted you the other night.”

“Yes, that pesky insomnia of hers kicked in as soon as we tried. We've been trying to think of a way to keep her quiet in the meanwhile.” Nightmare Nick smiles, vicious and poisonous. “I even considered a gag.” 

“She's really going to be a nice prized soul,” Nightmare John remarks. 

“I'm sure she'll be treated nicely, a primly treated pet.” Nightmare Nick reaches for Zatanna, snatching his hand back with a yelp when a burst of fire burns his hand. 

“Coven magic,” His twisted self grits out, turning to John. “You stay out of this.”

“Fat chance,” John growls. “You, along with every demonic and angelic force, are not getting your hands on her. Not until I draw my last bloody breath.”

The main mare lunges for him, and the sigil sparks again, shooting at its chest. Vines start to grow out of the circle, angry black thorns striking at the other two mares. That wasn't part of the spell, he never worked any of this kind of magic into the spell, but he'll take what help he can get. One vine lashes out, and the red glow fades as it strikes the floor, breaking the circle. 

Oh, fuck, scratch that last part about the help. 

The three mares launch themselves at him, pinning him to the ground. His hair is pulled back as they bare his neck, and he can see the twisted version of himself pull out a wicked dagger. 

“I hope you're still fond of the idea of suicide, Constantine,” His mirror image muses. “Because you're about to kill yourself.”

The arm raises up, and John closes his eyes, not wanting to see it happen. It all ends here, to three mares and the woman he loves ever so deeply about to be enslaved in Hell because of him. He hears a shrill cry and he looks up to see golden fire encircle the three mares like a noose. It pulls tight, and they're yanked away from him. He turns on his back, looking up to see Zatanna holding the fiery rope, eyes filled with rage. “You come into my house,” She bites out. “You disrespect my guest, and have the nerve to think I will go quietly into the night.” The mares stare up at her with horror in their eyes and John gets to his feet, awe filling him. She's always fearsome when she's fighting demons, what he imagines angels looked like in the dark times when they did the same. The rope tightens, and the three mares shriek at the pain, forms of him and Nick reduced to ash as it reveals the true form of the other two. “Tell Mammon that he can find another way, because there's no fears here to prey on except your own.”

“We saw it!” The one that had previously looked like him protests. “You have fear.”

“Maybe,” Zatanna hums, pulling them close to her as she smiles wickedly. “But your fear of me is much greater.”

She whispers something from her mother's native tongue like a viper readying its bite, and they cry out. “Okay, okay, we'll go!” The leader pleads. 

A portal opens in the middle and she flicks her wrist, releasing the rope into thin air. The mares follow through, the last one giving John a furious glare before disappearing along with the portal. The air rests again, tension staticing into the void. She lets out a long breath before looking over to him. 

His eyes rest on the scar that's now uncovered. It's right where he hit her, where all the trauma and pain he's ever felt bundled up into one bolt of dark magic drove into her chest like a stake into a vampire. It's more monstrous than almost any scar he's seen from a run in with a demon. A vein runs through it, glowing softly with her Magi blood. He almost killed her, would've killed her had Asa not been immediately there to heal her. Zatanna notices his stare, crossing her arms to try to minimize the amount of scarring that shows. 

“That's why you've been wearing turtlenecks and hoodies in this godforsaken weather,” He realizes out loud. “You didn't want me to see.”

“Not everything is about you, John.” She gives him a firm glare as she gets out of the bed, throwing a robe around herself. “Trying to explain why your blood is a different color is a pain in the ass.”

“Zatanna-”

“Don't, I don't need this right now,” She snaps. “I already had a lot on my mind without you showing up.”

“What, like becoming Doctor Fate?” He says, petty and bitter. 

 _Christ,_ he thinks as her fist connects with his jaw. _She still has a killer left hook._

“How dare you,” She hisses, shoving him against the wall. “You don't get to walk in here and judge my decisions when you've been gone for the last seven years. Not when you're just going to leave again. I have nowhere left to go.”

John rubs his cheek. “Zee, I'm sure the old gang would take you back.”

She scoffs bitterly. “Right, I've spent seven years without a word to them. They've made no effort to find me. Sounds like I'm welcomed with open arms.”

“At least go back to your father,” John reasons. “I'm not the biggest fan, but it's still something.”

Zatanna steps away, face contorted in pain. “I can't.”

“Oh, please.” John eyes her critically. “He loves you, however poorly he shows it. There's no way he wouldn't let you go back to Shadowcrest.”

“Shadowcrest isn't his property anymore, it's mine. He's not there.”

Not there? That was Giovanni's fortress last time he checked. There's no way that Giovanni would've passed it onto Zatanna, unless… What one of the mares said earlier rings in his head.

_“You know, after seeing her father the other night.”_

“Zatanna, what happened?”

She looks at the ground. “The last host of Nabu expired…quicker than anticipated. He needed someone.”

John grits his teeth, leaning back against the wall. He already knows where this is going, because he wouldn't have fallen in love with her if she wasn't sweet and giving and kind. “Giovanni is the current host. You're trying to find a way to replace him.”

Zatanna shrugs weakly. “I'm not doing much for the world being a…mess like this.” The laugh she lets out is resigned, angry with hands tied. “For fucks sake, I couldn't even keep a damn mare away from me.”

“First of all, there was three. Second, they were sent by the Lord of Avarice. Third, I'm the only reason why they got in.” He sighs, folding his arms. “If I hadn't come, you wouldn't have gotten attacked.”

“He's been gunning for me for quite a bit anyways,” Zatanna reasons. “If I didn't replace Dad as the host, I'm sure Mammon would've gotten me eventually.”

John looks over her frame and he can see the exact road that's led her here. With the same nature as someone trying to pet a feral cat, he grabs her wrist, pulling her over to the bed so they can sit together. “He wouldn't have gotten you, Zee. You're too good, too pure to let some demon be the one to take you down. No one takes you down without you letting them.” His eyes glance at her scar and he sighs. “I… I don't want to lose you again. I can't bear it. So please, if you think you could try to work with me on us, I…really want to.” Without even meaning to, his voice goes quiet. “I don't want to keep running.”

“And what if you forget again?” 

His eyes widen at the thought. The last two times have been his own doing, but what if someone did find a way to make him forget her? “Then I want you to track me down and make me remember.”

She shakes her head, burying her face into her hands. “I tried that.”

The words get repeated in his head, just so he can make sure that he heard her right. “Come again?”

Her shoulders begin to shake, and as she lays her hand on his wrist, she whispers out a sob, _“Erahs yromem.”_

The room changes in an instant. He can see himself sitting at a bar counter. Water is wet, sandpaper is rough, and bars are John Constantine's typical habitat. He turns to see Zatanna come through the door, weary and worn out but still full of wonder. When she sees the memory version of himself, her breath visibly quickens and she nearly stumbles over herself trying to get to him. “Oh thank God, I found you, John. Just come home so we can figure things out,” She says, sweet and sugary and yes, oh, yes, he would've done it in a heartbeat so why didn't he-

“Sorry, do I know you?” 

The words slam everything home, the final piece of the puzzle. _“I don't know what game you're playing, but I won't stand for it. Not again.”_  She had said. She'd already met him once after he forgot her. 

Zatanna's face falls, fear bubbling to the surface. “What?” She asks, voice quiet and trembling. 

_This is what it's like to see a heart break._

“Have we slept together ‘fore?” His memory self eyes her like she's any other bar bird, and he wants to reach over and slam his head into the bar counter, wants to beg Sara Lance to take him back in time so he could kick his own ass for how disgusting it is to watch this. “Sorry, love. Terrible memory.”

“That's not funny,” She whispers, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “John, please.”

Even in face of her tears, he's still the same heartless git. “Look, I don't recognize you. At all. So, if you have nothing else to say and you're not going to put out-” 

She grabs his wrist in a frenzied panic. _“Ruocs.”_ He recognizes the spell; she's trying to see if he's lying. 

The memory of him cocks his head for a second before ripping his arm away. “Sorry, not familiar with that language,” He says, voice cold with irritation. “I suggest you find other company.”

“Apologies,” She chokes out, turning away. “Thank you for your time.”

It's not just a thank you for the time he gave her in the bar; it's a thank you for the six years they spent in splendid punch drunk happiness, six years that defined him and six years that made him strong and able to wake up not hating himself because he woke up next to someone who believed in him. It's a goodbye, the closest to closure she'll ever get, and he chases after her like the pitiful form of his memory should've done. 

Chas is standing outside, waiting for her. “I told you,” He says. “There's no memory of you. Alastair is gone, completely erased. Same with the coven mark.”

Zatanna nods, lips quivering. “Take care of him for me? Please?” 

Her voice cracks at the end, and Chas reaches out. “Zee-”

She shakes her head, spinning out of reach. “Please don't make this harder than it already is,” She says, tears rolling down her face. 

The memory fades, and he's back in her bedroom in Cairo, sitting right next to her. He can hear how she's sucking in breaths, trying not to cry and he knows why, he knows that she's afraid he'll bolt as soon as she does because it's what always happens. 

Not anymore. 

He wraps his arms around her, pressing his lips to her head. “I hurt you, and I can't begin to explain how sorry I am.”

The cries start small, but soon she's wailing into his chest, wailing because they've both felt so alone and she was the only one to carry the burden of knowing why. Her hands clutch him like he's her life raft, and he pulls her back until they're both laying on the bed. He tucks her under his chin, pulling her in until there's not an inch between them. “I've got you, love,” John says, hushed and soft. “I've got you.”

* * *

She's quiet over breakfast. Neither of them have slept a wink, instead laying together to contemplate their hazy future. He slides the omelet towards her and sits across, folding his arms. “What do you want to do?” He asks. 

Zatanna looks up in surprise at the words; they're the first that have been spoken in hours. Her eyes are bloodshot, frantic as they dart around to look. “I…” She breaks off with a sad laugh. “I don't want to be the damsel in distress. I don't want to have to be saved.”

John leans forward. “I'm not trying to save you, Zee. I'm trying to help you save yourself.”

Her face softens at what he says, and she looks down at the food. “You've got your mercenary to get back to.”

“He can wait for now,” John says. “I told him I'd get to him as fast as I could as soon as I found you, and to be honest, this isn't the Zatanna I came for.”

“And which Zatanna did you come for?” She asks dryly. 

“The one that doesn't lose,” He answers back with sincerity. 

She doesn't have an answer for that one, and she passes the silence by eating her food. She's in a tanktop, and he watches the vein in her scar pulse every so often. “I'm not losing,” She says, defensive as she points her fork at him. 

“No, but you're thinking about forfeiting,” He replies. 

She huffs, returning back to her food. “You're just trying to con me into staying around.”

John gives her a half smile. “Is it working?”

“Unfortunately,” She admits. 

The half turns into a full. “Zee, you could come with me. God knows my self control has been shot lately.”

She gives him a pointed look. “I shouldn't have to be your babysitter.”

“The moment we made a coven, you agreed to be my eternal babysitter,” He remarks. “You have to keep the world safe from me.” 

“That shouldn't be my responsibility,” She groans, taking a sip of her tea, and he swears it's eight years ago and she's trying not to give in to helping him get laid. It's nostalgia, it's home. 

“But you love doing it,” John says softly. 

Zatanna's shoulders slump and she tilts her head back. “That I do.” A few seconds go by and she hums. “I love you. Stars and beyond.”

His heart skips a beat. The passphrase that lets the other know that they're not mad at them. “Sun and back infinitely,” He whispers. “You wanna try that platonic soulmates things again?”

She smiles, reaching for his hand. “I think we can make it work.”


	8. birds of a chaotic feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just like old times, with new habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drags myself to the table to drop off a 10k chapter* Couldn't cut it into two, now let me hibernate.

* * *

_-two weeks ago-_

 

It's hard to get up.

Not because she's sprawled out over John from their binging of television, but because of the pressure of what he has to go find. Zatanna's bundled underneath a blanket, game console in hand as a thrilling fantasy drama plays on the television. She knows he's procrastinating as well; every so often this last week, she'll give him a look of wondering why he's still here.

He's scared, so very scared of going back to find Kane. It'd felt like the perfect dream travelling with him, and he's afraid that as soon as Kane sees him, it'll be a rude awakening. John's charming, he knows this, but he worries that once Kane gets to know him even remotely as much as Zatanna does, Kane will hightail it out. John wraps his arms under Zatanna's, burying his nose into her hair to try to de-stress.

“He's not going to leave you,” She murmurs, still running around the same area in the game. God, she knows him inside and out, and he wants to hate it but loves it too much to do so.

“Oh, hush.” He looks at her screen. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find a shiny Vulpix,” She pouts. “It'll take awhile, but I am dedicated.”

“You're adorable,” He laughs, kissing the top of her head.

“And you're procrastinating,” She replies, tilting her head back to give him a glare. “You need to go. He needs your help, or at the very least, you should be developing a relationship with someone who sounds like he wants to do the same. Staying here will make you content, not happy.”

John tries to mirror her glare, but fails. She's right; he wants to find his Aussie, see where things go. For the first time in a long while, he feels hopeful. It's been a feeling since he remembered Zatanna, Alastair swimming all along his body to spread the wistfulness. “You're a miracle, you know that?” He says, lips pursed. “You keep me alive.”

“We keep each other alive,” She corrects, miffed as she goes back to her game.

“You're my little slice of hope and self control,” He hums.

“I shouldn't have to be-oh, FUCK IT ALL.”

He jumps from her loud shout. “You okay?”

“A shiny different than what I wanted. My streak is broken.” She sniffs in frustration. “I've spent five hours on this.”

“You could magic yourself what you want,” He says with a befuddled tone.

Zatanna gets up, setting the console into its dock. “Now where's the fun in that? Come on, get your coat on. I'm hungry.”

“I can cook,” He says, putting his hand up in a defensive manner.

“I want a salmon burger, and it's the only thing you don't know how to make.”

John scoffs. “Sorry I can't make burgers like our ex could. I'm not American.” He says the last word with a teasing sneer, one that she doesn't rise to.

“It's okay,” She hums. “You still sate my other cravings for food.”

John gives her a knowing smirk. “And your other hungers? Who tends to those nowaday? You haven't had any nightly callers.”

Zatanna shrugs. “I haven't really seen the point.”

“Oh, Zee,” He sighs, pulling his coat on. “How long is it been?”

She leans against the kitchen island, deep in thought as her lips move before holding up five fingers.

John snorts. “Well, it can't be hours. And I don't remember you sneaking out five days ago, unless you're being in two places at once, so it must be weeks.”

She shakes her head.

John narrows his eyes. “Zee, months. Please let it be months.”

She looks up at him, shaking her head again.

“Fucking Christ, five years? Zatanna Zatara,” He chides. “That's it. We're getting you laid tonight. We're going to go out there and find someone to sate your needs.”

“Johnny, it's fine,” She sighs. “It's not a necessity.”

“Zatanna, I remember years of old,” He argues. “You are a voracious and lascivious vixen.”

“Yes, stress the active phrase of years of old. That's been quite a while now.” She jerks her head towards the door. “Come on. Let's go get food.”

* * *

She's still not wearing her usual colors of black, black, grey, black, and a little bit of purple mixed with black. It's frustrating, looking over to see Zatanna in drab neutral colors, but it'll have to do. He wants to ask why, but he's afraid he'll get an answer that won't do. It's fine, he tells himself. It doesn't mean anything, maybe her fashion taste has changed.

“John?”

He snaps his head up, drawn out of his thoughts by her. The look of worry on her face is so normal, so endearing, and he feels his shoulders drop in relaxation. “Sorry, mind was somewhere else.”

“Well, your body should follow it,” She scoffs. “Go find that Aussie of yours.”

“And what will you do?” He asks. “Can't leave you by your lonesome, now.”

She shrugs, looking away from his eye contact as she takes a drink of her milkshake. “You could. I don't know what I'm going to do yet.”

John frowns. “You can't still possibly be thinking about taking over for your father.”

She still can't bear to look at him. “What else am I supposed to do? Just let him waste away?”

“Yes?” John says, more of a statement than a question, as if it's the most obvious thing she should do. “That's exactly what you're supposed to do. He offered himself up to that uptight cunt, he deserves to get left behind.” She gives him a distressed grimace and he shakes his head. “No, Zee, I'm not feeling bad for him. Not when you have a much brighter future than he ever did.”

Zatanna wraps her arms around herself. “But…” She trails off, and he knows he has her outlogiced.

“Zee, what can he do that you can't? And if you can't, what can't you learn? We both know the answer is nothing.” Her lips quiver, tears welling in her eyes, and he moves to sit in her side of the booth from the guilt. “Okay, come here.” He wraps his arms around her, and she buries her head into his chest. He feels like an outright dick, but that's the way it has to be. Giovanni Zatara lost his respect the moment John met him, and Zatanna can do everything that he can with both hands tied behind her back. “I don't want the world to miss out on how perfect you are,” He murmurs against her forehead. “You have so much life left in you.”

“It's selfish,” She croaks.

“Zee, he never cared about you being happy.” He squeezes her tight. “You should start doing so for yourself. You deserve to be happy, in whatever form that takes. And it's sure as hell not as a meat puppet for some dick who thinks order should be absolute.”

“I've been working so hard trying to be good enough to take over.” She presses her head into his chest. “All that is completely for naught if I give up.”

“No, it won't be.” John kisses the top of her head. “You strengthened yourself by being something you weren't. But I think you deserve to be yourself. Get rid of these garbage neutrals you're in.”

Zatanna laughs against his shirt. “You're always wearing a garbage neutral coat.”

“Excuse me,” John says, haughty and offended. “I won this coat fair and square.”

“Fair and square?!” She pulls back, mouth open in surprise. “You frisked that off our dead ex.”

“Well, Nick wasn't going to fucking use it,” John mutters, folding his arms.

She can't stop laughing, and it's a sound he wants to keep hearing for the rest of his life, a sound that tells him everything's okay, everything will be alright.

 

* * *

_-seven days ago-_

 

“Zee, please come with me,” John asks quietly. It's another attempt to add the growing pile of times he's tried. He can tell that it's working too; every time, she takes longer and longer to tell him that she'll think about it.

She runs her hand through her hair as she looks at the papers below her. “Just, let me finish something here, okay?”

John perks up. It's the first definitive answer she's given, and he can't help but to get excited. “You mean it?”

“You're right. For once,” She tacks on. “I can't ignore my own happiness just because I think it's what my father would want. He's gone, he might as well…” She takes a shuddering breath. “...be dead. I'm not going to seek his approval. Not anymore.”

“You insolent child.”

Both of them launch to their feet as a figure clad in sleek gold armor materializes into the room, and John sneers at the gaudiness of it. For a simple being of order, Nabu sure loves to deck his meatbags in lavish threads. Fate's arms are crossed, and John scrunches his nose at the magic roiling off of him.

“You would throw away a chance at unattainable magic for a life of uncertainty?” Nabu asks, and hearing Giovanni's voice as an undertone makes John's stomach twist. He can feel Zatanna's pain through the coven mark, the connection having shaken off cobwebs the last couple of weeks.

“Unattainable magic either way if I don't have any control,” She hisses. “I'm not going to be your puppet.”

“You'd disappoint me? Your own father?” John grits his teeth as Fate's voice loses Nabu's timbre, only Giovanni's tone left to say anything.

Zatanna's eyes widen for a second before narrowing into slits. “You're not my father. I know you. I know your work.”

Nabu takes back over. “The Magi in you was always too chaotic in you. That primal magic was almost squashed until you let the infernal garbage in.”

John snarls. “Sod off, you over inflated prick.”

_But bloody hell, Infernal Garbage would've made a great Mucous Membrane track title._

Fate ignores him. “You'll never be able to take over for your father if you keep holding onto your chaos.”

“You mean my soulmate?”

John feels his chest flutter; she's claimed him back, not even hesitating to do it.

“I mean your love for the terrible things of this world. The vices, the people who don't deserve faith.” It's said with disgust, and John nearly pulls back from how hot the coven mark burns with her emotions.

“Never,” Zatanna growls.

Doctor Fate jerks his head back, as if surprised. Without another word, he vanishes in a sweep of dust. John looks over to Zatanna, touching her arm. “Hey,” He says, soft and low.

“I'm fine,” She assures him. “What I said is the truth. It's not my father.”

“Was he just waiting for that to happen?” John muses.

“Probably,” Zatanna answers. “Waiting to see what I'd do. See if you could seduce me to chaotic side.”

John gives her a grin. “It's a rather fun side. Lots of pleasure to be had.”

“I'm not getting laid, Johnny,” She says, exasperated and amused.

“I'm not saying sex, I'm saying…” He struggles to come up with an excuse. “Okay, yeah, I'm saying sex.”

“Hooking up with some random passerby? I'll pass,” Zatanna says, turning her attention to the papers. “Do you want to break into a museum? It's a couple blocks away.”

“Zee, it's ten at night,” He says appalled.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Of course I want to break into a museum. It's ten at night. Best time to do it.” John folds his arms, glaring at her. “I'm offended you thought you had to ask.”

 

She's back in black.

God, did she always pull it off well, even now as she unlocks the back entrance into the museum under the ugly glare of the lighting on the wall. She catches his eyes looking her over, and she smiles. “See something you like?”

“Yes,” He says. “My Magi, once again at full form.”

She laughs, opening the door. “Guess that means we gotta go find your Aussie after this?”

He knows what she said earlier and just now, but he has to repeat it to make sure. “We?”

She nods. “We.”

They head through the emergency exit halls, him following her with enthusiastic interest. “What are we after, Zee?”

“A _was_ scepter. Might be hiding in the pillars of the museum. Rumored to be Isis’ herself.”

John gives her a wry smile. “Trying to assume a mantle?”

Zatanna scoffs. “Thanks, but no thanks. I've already got my work cut out for me keeping you out of trouble. I don't need more to worry about.”

John hums. “Oh good, I don't have to share.”

She touches a couple of pillars as they pass through the place. He notices her scar is glowing even through the high necked shirt she wore, and she hums. “It's around here somewhere. Check the pillars over there.”

He does so, performing a scour spell on each pillar she doesn't touch. None of them have anything, and when he finishes the last one, he circles back over to her. “Zee, I didn't see anything-”

The glow of her scar fades as he comes near, and she furrows her brow at the pillars as she closes off a portal. “Should've been here.”

“Mm, your little radar isn't going off,” John says with slight disdain.

“Well, come on, then. It's a bust,” Zatanna groans.

John raises an eyebrow. “Giving up?”

“It was a shot in the dark anyways,” She says, shrugging. “I just haven't had time to make it down.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “We're well familiar with the feeling of lucking out, love. Come on, I'll make you a nice drink and we'll pass out on the couch before getting our bags packed.”

“That sounds nice,” She sighs.

John looks around as they start to leave the museum. “No guards? Not worried about cameras?”

She snorts. “You act as if I didn't think about them. There's an orb of light in the southwest corner, distracting the security. And we're invisible to the cameras. Shielded us nice and quiet.”

“Shouldn't have even questioned it with our history. Remember the Louvre?”

She smiles, holding the backdoor open for him. “A personal tour, Nick had said.”

John gives her a knowing grin. “Touched some nice pieces of artwork that night.”

She smacks his arm, biting her lip. “Smartass.”

He laughs, pulling her close as they walk down the street. “That's exactly how you love me, though.”

She hums. “True. Wouldn't have you any other way.”

The sound of sirens make his smile drop into slight worry. “Zee, do you hear that?”

She stops, focusing on the sound. “Yeah, emergency services. It's coming from…”

The direction of her townhouse.

She breaks out into a run, and he groans before taking off after her. God, he hates running and exercise in general. She's only gotten better at it, and he eyes the three inch heels she's wearing as she pounds the sidewalk in silent respect.

She slows to a halt, and he can see why; the townhouse is but cinders now, consumed and devoured by a vicious fire. Her eyes are glittering with tears, and he wraps an arm around her. “Please tell me part of it was enchanted,” He says softly.

Zatanna nods, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Yeah, the study. But all of that clothing…”

“Was drab as shit and looked hideous on you,” John confesses.

Zatanna sniffs. “The hoodie…”

He answers with a scoff. “I'm sure Cheryl's got some of my old tees still.”

“Like your sister would hand that over knowing it was for me.” She wipes her tears away, lips thinning into a frown. “I hated this place anyways. You're right, neutrals aren't my thing.”

“But chaos,” John croons, kissing her temple. “Chaos is definitely your thing. And black. Loads of black.”

She leans against him. “You got a car I can sleep in?”

John pales. Shit. He had been banking on her driving. “You, uh, you don't?”

She straightens up, giving him an exasperated glare. She knows him inside and out, already having caught onto his ruse. “The only thing my father was ever right about was how expensive you were.”

“Sugar mommy, please buy us a car,” He begs.

“On the condition that you never call me that again,” She says, sickly sweet as she taps his nose.

“No promises.”

She sighs, looking back to the smoldering ruins. “How did this happen?” She says in a somber tone.

“Stay here, I'll figure it out.” John walks up to one of the firefighters. “What's the word on the fire?”

“Arson, we're thinking.” The woman wipes her brow. “Odd way for it to catch, though. Started in the living room.”

John nods his thanks before returning to Zatanna. “Well?” She asks.

He's quick to answer, feeling a cold chill up his spine. Hide the truth, his gut says. “They said the stove must have been left on.”

She glares at him, not amused. “I swear, if I just lost out on good clothing because you forgot to turn the stove off in your drunk stupor-”

“I will raise you money for new clothes,” John reasons. “All the black and lace you'd ever need.”

Another firefighter comes up to them. “You two know anything about the woman who lived in that house?” He asks.

Zatanna stares at the ruins, contemplating her answers. “No,” She answers. “Complete stranger, to be honest.”

Those words are a godsend to his ears.

* * *

_-five days ago-_

 

The soft sounds of her game rouse him from slumber, and he pulls himself up to look at her then the clock. “Zee, it's three in the morning.”

“I know what time it is.” She leans against the table, putting her system down. “What of it?”

John pats the empty spot next to him. “Come sleep,” He tells her. “You've been driving nonstop.”

Zatanna looks away, quiet. She's thinking about things, things that are uncomfortable. “Can't,” She confesses. “Nightmares.”

He gets out of bed, padding over to the other chair. “What kind?”

Her lips mash into a frown, and she looks away from him, avoiding eye contact. “All of your trauma. What was put into the spell.”

John rubs his face. “I never meant-”

“I know, you meant it for Boston,” She cuts him off.

“Did my amendment at least work?” He asks, voice barely a whisper. “Were you given reprieve between memories?”

She nods, rubbing her eyelids. “There started to be more good than bad in the end.”

John can't help but to give her a smile. “You did that. You and Nick. Well…”

“When he wasn't losing his mind,” Zatanna says for him. “When he wasn't obsessing over the Books of Magic.”

Just the very mention of them makes his skin itch; he needs them, craves them- _No!_ He looks down at her scar, reminding himself why it's there.

* * *

_He can hear them gathering at his back, here to stop him from gaining power. Too late for them; just a couple of days with the Book of Fire has taught him more than he ever could dream of, fueling his revenge against the nosy ghost that is Deadman. He wants to see inside the mind of John Constantine? He has no idea what's coming to him._

_“I don't remember saying I was hosting a party,” John says, clutching the Book of Fire like a dead man's switch. Ha. Dead man._

_“C'mon, John, just put the book down,” Boston says._

_“Right,” John drawls. “Sorry, mate, but I'm not the biggest fan of listening to the ghost that set off a mental minefield in my head.”_

_“Not my fault your mind's a fucked up mess of trauma,” Boston bites out._

_A disapproving hiss draws John's attention to the side. Zatanna. He knows he should be feeling_ something for her _, but there's nothing when he reaches out. There's something that he knows is_ wrong _about it, and he hates that just the sight of her sets his skin roiling in self loathing. If looks could kill, Boston would be double dead._

_Wait, why is she so angry about the mention of his possession? Hadn't she been in on… it…_

_Suddenly, his chest seizes in fear, fear that he's jumped to the wrong conclusions and fallen off his tightrope, much like his current mortal enemy. Boston had used her want to meet up, to make things right, to get to him. His grip on the Book of Fire tightens, and he feels the magic in his soul snap its teeth. Fine. If Boston wants to see inside him, see what's he's made of, what makes him John Constantine, then he gets to see what pain built him. “You've been a thorn in my side this entire time,” John growls, gathering the trauma spell into his hand. Every bad memory, every cigarette put out on his arm, every hit to the face, every time he forced himself between rent or dignity, wells up in it, and he snarls. “So swallow this.”_

_He flings the spell straight at Boston, but the figure in the corner of his eyes flings herself in front of him. What's left of John's heart lurches, and it all comes back to him. His devotion to her, undying faith, undying love, like a crazed Catholic for their God. The spell hits her in the chest, and he sees her collapse. The Book of Fire falls out of his hand, and he feels his lungs start to shake. No, she's not-_

_They're clamoring about her, Asa pressing magic in Zatanna like never before. Her chest is gushing blood, the entirety of her torso covered in gold, and he feels everything seize up inside. He can't be the reason she dies, he can't-_

_Madame Xanadu pulls him by the wrist. “You have to fix this, fix her,” She mutters, grabbing the Book with a sheet._

_“I-I don't know how to,” John stammers. It's true, he'd do it in a heartbeat, but all he's learned is how to break, how to destroy. Zatanna was always better at healing, at fixing everything. But he's shattered her, broken her._

_He's killed her._

_Xanadu scoffs. “Not her wound. That is out of your hands. But your_ pain _…”_

_She pulls him into the House of Mysteries; he hasn't been back since he left, and it feels as if a cold shoulder has been turned to him. The commotion ahead is where she pulls him to, sitting him outside the door. “Wait here.”_

_He listens, because what else can he do? He's too scared to book it, too scared to run like the coward he is. His hands run through his hair, his throat welling with tears. A sound starts, and his breathing quickens as he recognizes her screaming. It's sobbing, it's yelling, and he knows what she's seeing, what she's feeling. The other members of the team file out of the room, giving him a look of disgust, and Xanadu holds the door open for him. “Fix it.”_

_He hurries into the room, despite the wails of suffering. They've pulled the restraints around her to stop the thick bandages on her chest from opening, and it doesn't stop her from fighting against them, body writhing as she screeches like an unholy abomination. He pulls a chair up to the bed, caressing over her coven mark. It quiets her, dropping her to just shuddering breaths being sucked in. “God, Zee, I'm sorry,” He whimpers. “I didn't mean to-”_

_No. He can't feel sorry for himself. Not now. Not when he needs to fix his mistake._

_He wraps a hand around her bicep, covering the coven mark and looking at his spell. He can't stop it; without another Book, he's just back to being another occultist, but there's still a way to make it better. He closes his eyes, whispering multiple languages mixed together like potpourri. He can give her his good memories, the ones that he dwells on when he's two steps away from sinking a slug into his brain. The ones that she stars in more often than the bad ones. Weaving them in after the bad memories is hard with how little there seems to be, and he spreads them as evenly as possible. Her breathing evens out, and if he didn't know better, he'd believe his Rapunzel was simply sleeping. “Zatanna, I won't be able to ever make it up to you. I'm sorry. I really am. I will always love you, my stars, and that's why I can't ever see you again. I've hurt you too much. You're better off without me, without this street trash weighing you down. I'll be long gone by the time you wake up. Please…try to hate me.”_

_He lets go of her, as much as he hates to do so. Everyone's gathered around the door as he opens it and he can't bother to look at their faces. “There. She'll be calm. Take care of her now.”_

_“Want your Book back?” Boston sneers._

_John takes out a cigarette, making his way out the door. “Not one for reading. Keep it.”_

* * *

He looks at her, looks at her tired frame that's slumped against the chair. “I didn't want to forget my love for you, Zee. But when Boston possessed me, it set off a mental breakdown. It got so bad, I threw myself back into Ravenscar.”

She lets out a sad laugh. “Christ alive, that place is like an abusive ex.”

John smiles. “Yeah, it's always there and leaves bruises on me.” The smile drops, and he looks down at the graining of the table. “I couldn't keep it together, couldn't keep myself sane, and I was just so…angry with you. I couldn't handle being torn like that between feeling betrayed and wanting your comfort, so I made myself forget it. And it felt so…wrong. I was physically sick the first couple of days. Could barely eat. And as soon as the trauma spell hit you…I remembered it all. And I couldn't fathom what I did to you. I almost killed you.”

Zatanna rubs his forearm, soothing and soft. “I'm sorry, sweetling.”

John looks at her in disbelief. “Are you trying to comfort me over almost killing you?”

Zatanna shrugs. “You didn't mean to. Like you said, you were aiming for Boston. And even then, on your worst day, you still wouldn't have tried to kill him. Not without the Books’ corruption.”

John rubs his eyes, pressing tears back in. “Fuck, love, I don't deserve you.”

She pulls him into her arms, squeezing tight. “You deserve me and more.”

He closes his eyes, breathing her in. Strawberries and just a hint of chocolate. Sweet just like her. Guilt sours in his stomach. “The second time, Zee, I…I had to forget you.”

“Why?” The word is full of sadness, of pain, and he winces. He can't tell her about Nick, about how he found his father murdered in cold blood and how Nick left behind evidence to take ownership of it. He can't tell her that Nick's back; she's already lost her house because of their crazy ex in Hell, more than likely. Who else would've done it?

“Wanted to protect you. Cut you off from me. A clean break.” He takes a deep breath, pressing himself forward. “For the record, regretted it the moment I casted it.”

“I got so scared,” She whispers. “Clary just froze on my hip for the rest of the last six years. My coven mark felt dead. No heartbeats, no emotions. And then all of the sudden, it started again and I didn't know what that meant.”

“I'm here now, love, haunting you til you tell me to go away. That's what that means.” He pulls her up, pulling her over to the bed. “Loyal cuddle partner and best friend at your service.”

Zatanna looks at him, critical as she pulls away gently. “And what about Kane? What happens when he finds out we slept in the same bed with the history we have, even if we are completely platonic?”

John looks from the bed to her. “I think…I think if this is as serious as I feel like it is, he'll learn to understand it. You're not something I can just cut out. You're like…you're like a lovable cancer.”

“I'm a Leo, but close.” She looks down at the bed again. “I didn't know he followed me that day,” She says in a hushed tone. “If I'd known what they were planning-”

“Hey, not your fault, love. They used you to get to me. Hazard of being close to me, hazard of me caring.”

She presses her forehead into his arm, nuzzling him. “Hazard I'll take any day,” She murmurs. “I think I might be able to sleep now.”

He pulls her down and into his arms. “You need your rest,” He agrees. “Make a good first impression.”

Zatanna smiles. “Is he really that choosy?”

“I think so. Only reason he didn't maim me is because I got that natural beauty.” John thinks for a moment as she giggles. “I told him I'd help him find peace if he helped me find you. Also helps that my cooking is still decent.”

Zatanna rolls her eyes at his last remark. “How bad is it that you promised peace?”

John grimaces. “Not going to lie, it's pretty rough. Would take quite a bit of work to get him alright again.”

She huffs. “Okay, fine, I'll do it.”

John rolls over, laying on her chest. “I didn't ask you to-”

“No, you didn't, but someone needs my help,” She replies. “I can't just ignore that.”

John groans. “You're a real one, Zee. A true lamb.”

“Oh, hush. Got enough blood on my hands. I'm not pure,” She mutters.

“You're pure to us sinners. A saint.” He traces over her coven tattoo. “You frighten me and make me tremble in awe, goddess.”

She grabs his arm by the wrist, pulling it away with a firm look. “If I'm a goddess, then that means I get to absolve you.”

Ah. She always knows how to go for the kill. “No, that's not…necessary.”

Absolution. His soul, free from sin, free from his guaranteed and already-paid-for ticket to Hell, but also replaced with a guarantee that he'll end up in her patronage when he shuffles off the mortal coil. Cut off from Hell, but cut off from Heaven as well, unable to reach his mother. Even then, she'd have to fight the demon that held possession of his soul, and he scares him to think of Zatanna, even at her best, going up against Nergal.

She sighs, kissing the pulse at his wrist. “Offer's always there. I'd fight the entirety of Hell for you.”

“Knowing you, you'd find a way to win.”

Zatanna hums, wrapping her arms around him. “Such faith. Go to sleep, love. I'll follow you shortly.”

* * *

_-yesterday-_

 

A feeling of bubbly giddiness is riding through him. Italy does that to him, but then again, it does it to her, too, but then again again, he also did just win every sports bet he put down. He wants to lavish her out; she's usually one to turn down money and expensive gifts, but he does owe her a new wardrobe at the very least. She's been switching between the spare clothes he had stowed away in his bag and her break-in outfit, and sleeping in leather is something they can both attest is uncomfortable as all hell.

She looks up from the bed when he comes in, eyeing his manic grin. “What did you do, Johnny?” Zatanna asks, sitting up in his button up that's just slightly tight on her bust. God, she needs new clothes.

“Won about twelve grand in euros.”

Her eyes widen. “What-”

“Bookies in Italy don't know me, Zee. I made out like a bandit on the sports circuit.” He jerks his head to the door. “C'mon, let me treat you out for once. Food, clothing. I owe you for all the years I didn't take you out like a proper boyfriend.”

“You better pick something up for your actual datemate,” She says, stern like a mum.

“I'll find something,” He assures her. “You're adorable, you know that?”

She sticks her tongue out as she pulls her pants on. “I'm fucking gorgeous and you know that.”

John smiles wide. “It's one of the reasons why I'm best friends with you.”

Zatanna gives him a knowing smirk. “Gotta make yourself look like an eight instead of a six next to a perfect eleven?”

John clutches his chest, groaning in fake pain. “Aim is still perfect. Right through the heart.”

She kisses his cheek as she exits out the door. “It's another reason why I'm your best friend.”

He follows her out, catching up quick enough to stop her. “Hang on, Zee. I looked up a shop you might like. Do you trust me?”

As soon as he says it, he realizes how much of a loaded question it is. To her credit, Zatanna folds her arms and gives him a funny look. “Right, when it comes to clothing? I'd swear you were wearing the same button up you wore when you left me six years ago.”

“I'm not, though,” He protests.

“I know, because it's the one I was wearing last night. I remember the lipstick stains I left on it.” She raises an eyebrow despite her words. “You really think I'll like this shop?”

“Swear up and down. I know you like the back of my hand,” John says, holding his hand up for emphasis.

Zatanna twitches her nose, thinking about her decision. “Whatever I want?”

“Besides the entire shop, yes,” He says, voice taking a mocking seducing tone. “This way, Zee. Let this watered down occultist tempt you down a back road alley.”

She laughs. “It wouldn't be as funny if I didn't know you descended from fae.”

“Not just any fae, the Seelie Queen,” He corrects. “Get it right, love. I'm royalty.”

“A royal pain in my ass if anything,” Zatanna jests.

* * *

He doesn't say ‘I told you so’; the look on her face is all he needs.

Her eyes are aglow as she looks at the black, black, and black that fills the store. It doesn't take long for her to start gathering things over her arm, and a shopkeeper comes over as he starts to see the mountain she's building. “ _Signorina_ , I hold for you?”

Zatanna looks up, pulling herself from thoughts. _“Se non ti dispiacerebbe. Il mio amico mi sta trattando per il mio compleanno, e probabilmente sarò qui per un po.”_

The shopkeeper smiles at her Italian, weary before from having to use English, and takes the items over to the counter. _“Fammi sapere se hai bisogno di qualcosa.”_

 _“Grazie mille,”_ Zatanna chimes.

John leans on the rack. “You ever think about how many people you could pull in with just saying a little bit of Italian?”

Zatanna scoffs. “Yes, my departed grandmother would be thrilled I was using her native tongue to seduce people.”

John shakes his head. “She wouldn't have to know, she's gone. I'm not gonna _ask_ you to kiss and tell…”

“No, you'll pester me like a ten year old for candy. I know how you work,” She corrects. “Now I told you what my stipulation was for picking things out for myself.”

John groans, looking around. “Can't you ever do anything for yourself without it benefitting someone else?”

“No,” She says, immediate and flat. “Now go find him something.”

He walks away with a grumble, giving her an exasperated look that is mirrored when she meets his eyesight, but they both break only a second later into a smile. A glass case catches his eye and he goes over to examine it. All of them seem nice but not up Kane's alley until he sees the twisted spirelike dagger hiding in the back, Damascus steel glinting from the shop light. “Hey, Zee,” He calls out. The click of heels sends shivers up his spine as she comes over, wearing boots that go up to her thighs and sport a wicked four inch heel. “Good God, woman, I would've killed back in the day for you to step on me with those.”

“My heel's only for you,” She says with a wink. “What am I looking at?” When he points, she crouches down and whistles at the dagger. “Damn, it'd take a surgeon to fix that kind of wound.”

“Yeah,” John says, slight smile on his face. “It would.”

Zatanna shakes her head. “Right. Mercenary. It looks pretty nice. I'm sure he'd appreciate it.”

John whines. “Zee, I don't need to hear ‘he'd appreciate it’-”

“My sun, he'll love anything from you,” She cuts him off with.

John opens and closes his mouth over and again. “How do you know?”

“Because any gift _you_ put thought into is well received.” She gestures to her pendant before standing, running her hand through his hair before walking back to her own shopping. He turns back, dopey smile on his face as he thinks about Kane. She always knows what to say.

The shopkeeper adds the dagger to an ever-growing pile of things; she's grabbed clothes, she's grabbed shoes, they even had fishnets. “Now that is what a good wardrobe looks like.”

Zatanna snorts, leaning against him. “And how would you know what that looks like?”

“I lived with you,” He replies.

The shopkeeper rings up the total, and John gives Zatanna the side eye. “You nab things off the clearance rack, love?”

“Not as much as you think,” She sniffs. “I like my choices. Don't bitch.”

John hands over the money, ignoring the shopkeeper's widened eyes. “Then you better get what you want for lunch.”

“Oh hush,” She says. “Haven't you heard of the saying ‘don't spend it all in one place’?”

“But I'm not.” He grins. “‘t's technically two places.”

* * *

The loads of clothing get thrown in a portal on their way to the restaurant, and he takes the second in the alley to smoke a cigarette.

“Not going to change?” John asks.

“No, I want to modify some of it back at the hotel. I can stand being in this for a few more hours.” She pulls the pair of aviators she bought out from thin air, putting them on. “What do you think?”

“Gorgeous as always.” They both are silent for a minute, and he dares to ask the question. “Zee, the clothing you got…”

“Was it too much?” She asks, quick with worry.

“No, that's not-dammit, no, I told you that wasn't going to be an issue.” He pauses, taking a drag to gain the courage to state the fact. “It was all high collared.”

She flinches. “Yeah? Have to cover the scar somehow.”

“Yeah, but can't you change your glamour to cover it?”

His heart drops as she shakes her head. “No, love. Can't glamour a soulwound.”

“But…” He thinks back to when he was weaving the spell. “Zatanna, that wasn't supposed to be a soulwound.”

“Well, it left its mark, and no amount of glamour makes it go away.” She tilts her head in his direction. “Don't worry about it.” John goes quiet, glum as he thinks about the consequences of his actions. She's forced to cover herself for the rest of her life, when all he remembers was her loving to show off her skin. Something jerks his sleeve, and she stops him, grabbing his chin to get his attention. “Hey.”

His eyes dart away as she lifts her sunglasses. “What?” He mumbles.

“I said don't worry about it. It was seven years ago. I've gotten used to it,” Zatanna huffs.

“I haven't.”

Her eyebrows almost shoot into her hairline, and she drops her hand away. “...right.”

“I've spent seven years thinking you were doing amazing without me, Zee. Thinking that it was best that I was gone.” His shoulders drop. “It's hard for me to think about the fact that I could've been there to help you through things, even if it was minimal.”

 _“Que sera, sera,”_ She says, shrugging as she starts walking. “You're here now. So make it up to me.”

John sighs, catching up to her. “You're too soft on me.

“Someone needs to be,” She corrects. “The universe has been throwing jabs left and right in your direction since you were born.”

* * *

The entire atmosphere of the restaurant is just…posh, and John swallows as he feels what seems to be the entire populace of the building staring him down. He knows he's not exactly the most conspicuous person, what with looking like a drowned vagrant, but isn't he allowed to feel average for one day? At least today, just so he can make it up to Zatanna. 

The hostess gives them the once over, smile turning sickly sweet forced. “Do you have a reservation?” 

John puts on just a thick of a smile, placing his arm on her podium as casual as can be. “Didn't realize we needed one, love,” He says, sliding the five hundred euro note onto her list smoothly. 

The hostess looks from the note to him to Zatanna then back to him before nodding. “You don't.”

A waiter snatches them, taking them to their seat. It's a bit of a walk, and John keeps looking over to see how Zatanna's handling the onlookers; to her credit, she has her bubbly face on, the one that people fawn over and would kill for. If the stares and whispers upset her, it didn't show. The table is in the very back next to the kitchen doors, and John groans internally. Of course. Just because the hostess made good money off this doesn't mean the waiter will be as fun. 

“What drinks can I get started for you?” 

“Lemonade for me,” Zatanna says with a grin. 

The server gives John an indignant look. “And for you?” 

“Just water is fine, thanks.”

The waiter scribbles something on the pad of paper and gives them a thin smile. “I'll have that for you shortly.”

Zatanna scowls as soon as the waiter turns away, and John watches her in a perplexed state. Her eyes lock onto a table behind him, and he turns as the waiter is much more jovial with the other party than he was with them. 

“Zatanna, it's fine-” John whispers. 

“No, it's not, Johnny.” 

She narrows her eyes as the waiter offers a bottle of wine to them before pulling out a seasonal menu, and he snickers as she seethes. 

“Zee, you know he's just upselling-” 

“It's rude,” She snarls. “Another table got the wine and specialty speal, why didn't we?” She puts her elbows on the table, glaring a hole through the table. “He's about to catch these hands.”

“Well, at least you've got four of them,” John mutters, running a hand through his hair. 

She stands, pulling him up with her. “I hate this place already, it raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I don't appreciate being put in the corner, nor do I appreciate the look he gave you.”

“Zee, I look homeless, he kinda has a reason,” John says with exasperation, but follows her through anyway. He's trying his best to be calm, but he feels justified at her anger, irritated that they can't get a decent amount of respect. Zatanna Zatara, always coming to bat for the outsiders and castoffs. 

A member of the staff comes out from a side door and stops them as she nearly reaches the entrance. “Excuse me, Ms. Zatara, we have to apologize for our waiter's behavior. We have a more private area on the balcony if you were wanting a nicer view.”

Something feels off about this entire situation, and John looks over to her in confusion; he can't name it, but he knows his little empath can. Her face is trained to a neutral expression before she tilts her head, smiling sweetly. “That would be lovely.”

She pulls John along, smile still on her face. Has he fallen into an episode of The Twilight Zone where he stepped through a veil and everyone's been possessed by bodysnatchers? The only thing that tips him off is the wink Zatanna gives him. Something's going on, and John tries his best to rack his brain on what's bothering him about the situation. They're led up a flight of stairs, and he can feel it get quieter, more secluded as they're seated on a quaint balcony. 

The waiter from before comes with their drinks, looking thoroughly nervous. “I apologize for my behavior earlier. Here's the seasonal menu.”

As Zatanna reaches for it, she knocks the glass of lemonade right onto the waiter. “Oh my, I'm so sorry!” She exclaims, reaching for John's napkin and knocking his water on the waiter too. “Oh God, I'm sorry!” 

She tries to pat him dry, and after a minute of them both trying, the waiter backs away in a fluster. “I'll be right back, ma'am.”

Zatanna covers her face as the waiter leaves before dropping one of her hands down. “They've gotten sloppy over the years.”

“The waiters?” John asks. 

Zatanna shakes her head. “No, didn't you find it funny that they knew my name?” 

 _That's_ what it was. “Maybe they know you from a show?” 

“That's what I thought too, but I had to be sure.” Zatanna leans back, uncovering her face and shaking her glass of lemonade. “Hence my clumsiness. I was able to get his arm and check the inside of his wrist. Blue flame.”

The Cult of the Cold Flame. They've found her. John groans as he puts his hand to his head. The fire. They burned down her house and are still tracking her. Goddammit, Nick. 

“Alright,” He says, leaning back in his chair. “So what do we do?” 

“Try to enjoy a meal,” She says. “Jump off the balcony if we need to. I can nail a landing from this high.”

“Get me a glass or two of wine, and I'll think about jumping,” John scoffs. A feeling in his chest festers, a panic of something unknown, and he furrows his brow. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“He's upset, I can feel it,” John answers. “Something's wrong.”

“Call him,” Zatanna urges. “We can spare a few minutes. They're most likely regrouping right now to replan if they're going to serve us food or poison.” 

John pulls out his phone, nervous as it rings for a few moments before Kane picks up. “You need to calm down, love.”

Kane lets out a relieved sigh, like John was exactly what he needed to hear. “How'd you know?” 

John grimaces, hoping the next part goes over smoothlike. “That lighter of mine is enchanted. Forgive me for not asking, but I wanted to keep some kind of tab on you without being too intrusive.”

Zatanna grabs for his wrist, comforting him as Kane answers with a warm gratitude. “It's fine. Quite welcomed, actually. Means you'll actually come back and see me, if only to get your lighter back.”

John laughs. Silly man. “You act as if that lighter's the only thing I'm coming for.”

Zatanna gives him a soft smile, the smile that she's genuinely happy for him, and he feels okay with everything for just a moment. “So any time I'm about to lose it, you're going to call?” Kane asks. 

“Any time you're afraid. You can handle the rest.” John stops, trying to right himself. “At least, I trust that you can.”

“I appreciate the trust. My chain smoking guardian angel.” 

John redden at the thought, and Zatanna tilts her head in curious amusement as he flounders to reply. “Mate, you have the wrong idea about me.”

“No, I don't think so.” There's silence for a moment, and John feels Kane's teasing playfulness come out. “You went through cartons like none other.”

John huffs out a laugh, leaning against the table as he stares off at the floor. “You want to talk about it?”

Kane goes quiet, and John bites his tongue. He shouldn't have asked, shouldn't have pushed it. Zatanna squeezes his wrist again, nodding her head for him to continue. “Love, you still with me?” He asks, hoping he didn't ruin it already. 

“Dead fiancé.” 

John closes his eyes, shoulders relaxing. Kane trusts him. He probably shouldn't, if John's going to be real with himself and the rest of existence. John realizes too late that he's been quiet for too long. “Never mind, shouldn't have-”

“I appreciate you telling me.” John means it, he really does. It's been gnawing at his guilt that he's known about Kane's fiancé for so long that it sates the guilt a little that he's trusted enough to know. He smiles bitterly, more to himself than anything; he can't risk thinking he's important to Kane. “Can't be easy to tell a random fling about something so serious.”

“Is that what you are?” Kane asks it in an almost surprised tone, as if he's been thinking something else the entire time. 

“Isn't it?” John asks, small and quiet. Zatanna brushes her thumb over his pulse and it's soothing to his nerves. 

“You're more than that.” It's said as both assurance and confession, and John nearly melts at the sound of it. It's been so long since he let himself get close enough to maybe say- 

He takes a breath, looking into Zatanna's eyes for courage, but they're instead staring behind him, her lips pulled into her business pout; following her sight shows the waiter coming back, glare on his face and he groans. “Oh, bollocks,” He bites out. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Unwanted company. Sounds like you're having a holiday compared to me.” The waiter reaches into his vest and pulls out a wicked magnum pistol, and without even having to think about it, both him and Zatanna flip the table towards him. “Don't think this conversation is over, Wolfman. You're my little puzzle box.”

He looks over to see Zatanna halfway over the balcony already. She nods, giving him a cupid’s grin before jerking her head down. They have to go. “Is that all I am to you?” Kane asks, playful. 

“So much more.” He means it, means it so much, and he hangs up. The waiter makes it past the table and John grins as he drops down, tucking himself to roll before getting up; Zatanna has already dropped down and she waves him over. It's just like old times again, running through the city with danger biting at their ankles.

* * *

“Wolfman?” 

They're clear on the other side of town, taking refuge in a coffee shop. She's changed into something a little less conspicuous; a band tee with dark grey jeans and Converse. Okay, well, as inconspicuous as she can get. He loves seeing her coven tattoo on her arm, looking like stars spun into her skin. If they weren't in public, he knows they'd be swirling like a galaxy. “It's his last name,” John answers. 

“And his first?” She asks, taking a drink of her chai tea. 

“Kane.”

“Kane Wolfman,” She says to herself. “That's a hell of a cover name.”

“His normal name is quite average if it makes a difference,” John says. She cuddles into his shoulder and he sighs, worried about their current problem. “Zee, we need to figure out what we're going to do.”

“I know, I'm working on it. Give me a moment to think,” She hums. 

“God, I could use a drink right now,” He mumbles. “I know, I know, you need me sober more than you need me drunk.”

“Correct.”

A wave of small concern seems to roll over him, and he groans. “He's worried again.”

“Call him,” Zatanna says. 

“I don't wanna see like I'm bothering him,” John argues. 

“Then text him.”

John gives her a scowl but nonetheless starts typing out a message, face softening as he thinks about what to say. 

>do I need to call, my dearest Aussie

He sends it, letting out a long breath. “Do you know how bloody stressful this is, Zee?” 

“Yeah, that's why I stopped trying,” She says, grinning. 

“Yeah, and I never had to try, it seems like. Not until now.” His phone goes off, and he looks down to read the message. 

>No, I don't want to get reliant on you always being there. 

John furrows his brow. “I…uh-”

Zatanna grabs his arm and pulls the phone over, humming as she reads the text. “Call him.”

“But-”

“He's trying to give you an out in case you don't care that much. Also, nice dick pic you sent him.”

“Thanks,” John mumbles, cheeks blushing as he dials Kane's number; he picks up quicker this time, much to John's relief. “Now, I'm almost offended by your reluctance to trust me.”

“It's not trust,” Kane says with a firm determination. “You were busy doing something.”

“That was nothing. Already taken care of.”

Kane makes a disgruntled sound. “I can't bother you over every little thing.”

John gets up, shooing Zatanna down and shaking his pack of cigarettes. He just needs a smoke. “And if I want you to?” The other side goes silent, and John lights his cigarette while waiting for Kane to answer. He can sense the hesitance, and gives Kane his own out. “It's okay if you can't. Just know it's there.”

“I'm travelling with someone,” Kane confesses, and John can hear the reluctance. “He said he'd be back soon, but it's been a few hours. I'm worried about him betraying me again.”

John nods, humming as he thinks. “How well do you know this person?”

Kane grumbles. “It's complicated.”

“Ooh, an enigma.” John takes a drag of a cigarette. “Ask yourself, what do they stand to gain if they betray you? And what do they stand to lose?”

“I…” Kane trails off, and John can tell that he is debating telling the truth. “It's my father.”

The estranged father, coming back to make amends. “Ah, you thought this was tricky. Well, tell us. Why is he in this with you?” 

“Finding Grant,” Kane answers, acting as if it's the obvious answer. 

John feels around Kane's emotions, sensing no ill will towards the father. There's a small hope, a very tiny hope, that his father's not just for Grant. “Is that all? I think you're being modest.”

“John, I don't think you understand-” 

“Kane, I know a lot of fathers, and from what I've surmised, you would've cut him off-slash-down if you really thought he was in this for any malicious reason.” John takes another drag of his cigarette, letting the words sink in. “So why are you conning yourself? What is so frightening that you can't come to accept?” 

There's a pause, audible clarity of something. “I've gotta go.”

“Take care.”

John waits until he hears the hang up to put his phone away. Zatanna comes out, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “His father is travelling with him. Needed a bit of reassurance.”

“Ooh, enter stage left interesting mystery person,” Zatanna says as she leans against the light pole. “What's he like?” 

“Dunno much about him. He's apparently also a mercenary.”

Zatanna smiles. “Runs in the family then. Can't wait to meet them.” 

“Like bringing home your new girlfriend to show your mother, except we haven't labeled it and you're my platonic soulmate,” He says, inhaling smoke. 

“So…the dick pic?” Zatanna asks, blinking her eyes all prettylike, begging him to tell her. 

“It was a couple of weeks ago,” John sighs. “I told him I was making you dinner, he asked what I was making him, and I sent the picture.”

Zatanna giggles. “Why didn't you get one back?”

John rubs his nose, blushing. “Because he called. May have ducked into the bathroom to…finish the call.”

“You yanked one out in my bathroom?” She asks, faux offended. 

“Mm, would you have preferred your study?” He retorts, grinning as she smacks his arm.

* * *

They've killed enough time when they get back to the hotel, he figures. Enough time for them to plant bugs and search their belongings. Zatanna casts a spell over the room, shorting the listening devices out before they retrieve them. 

“They're lucky I carry my bag everywhere with me or they'd really find a surprise,” John comments, taking down a bug from the shower. 

“How many vibrators you got in there, babes?” Zatanna asks, holding her hand out so he can add to the growing pile. 

“Enough to make a high class whore look underprepared,” He answers with a wink. 

“And that's why I don't go into your bag,” Zatanna comments. 

He smiles his smug smile, walking out of the bathroom before leaning against the table as sheer fear and nausea flood him. “Oh, God,” He chokes. 

Zatanna pulls him up. “What's wrong?” She asks frantically. 

“Something's happened, something, something bad, Zee,” He gasps. “He's angry and afraid, genuinely afraid.”

Zatanna presses his phone into his hand. “Call him,” She says firmly. 

The room is spinning, why does it feel like it's spinning? He tries to call the number and it rings out before the recorded message says, “The party you are trying has a voicemail box that has not been set up yet” before hanging up. He takes a shuddering breath, and he feels Zatanna lead him over to the bed. “Lay down, keep calling,” She tells him, brushing her fingers over his forehead. “Separate yourself from his feelings. Touch them, but don't get tangled in them.”

“Help me,” He whispers. “I've never been good at emotions, you know this.”

 _“Mlac, ym evol,”_ She says. _“Dnif eht htgnerts ot pleh mih.”_

He can feel her magic weaving into him, a small spell. It's just the calming effects, her second sentence being a bolster for him. With a deep, calmer breath, he hits the redial button. 

“The party you are trying has a voicemail box that has not been set up yet. Please try your call again later.”

Redial. 

“The party you are trying has a voicemail box that has not been set up yet. Please try your call again later.”

Redial. 

“The party you are trying has a voicemail box that has not been set up yet. Please try your call again later.”

Redial. 

It seems to be a never ending cycle of a robotic woman dashing his hopes only for Zatanna to raise them again. Eventually, he'll answer, right? 

Right? 

Redial. 

It rings, and then it picks up. “Good God, mate. I've been calling the last hour. Don't ever scare me like that ever again.”

Zatanna raises her eyebrows before glaring at John for his insensitivity. “Can't promise anything,” Kane jokes roughly. “Your lighter going off?” 

“Like a bloody nuclear alarm.” John feels himself relax as he fully grasps that Kane answered. “What happened?”

“I…haven't been honest with you.”

The words make John feel guilty as he looks at Zatanna. “Nor have I with you. We both keep our secrets.” 

“I…I tried getting information out of a man. And…” Kane pauses, trying to regain control of his voice. “I have something inside me, it's what makes me strong, everything's heightened. Everything's sensitive.”

John bites the inside of his cheek. Another thing that he'd looked the other way about, because damn, he loved the way Kane could bruise his hips. “I figured something was going on. It's why I didn't argue with moving at night.”

“It makes me...irritable. Irrational. Volatile.”

John knows what he's done already, can hear it in the way Kane is horrified with himself. “The best kind of bar fight bloke. So you killed him.”

Zatanna's eyebrows shoot into her hairline in surprise. “Yeah. My father, he found me. And I…I almost killed him too. I'm not doing good, John.” 

John swallows, leaning back against the headboard. “Alright, it can't be that bad.”

“We've hit a dead end, and I'm sure I just completely fucked it up.” Kane's voice is quivering. “We're never going to find him. And it's all my fault.”

Zatanna grabs his sleeve and mouths the word ‘mute’. “Hold on, love, give me a minute.” John presses the mute button. 

“Give me the quick low down.”

“He killed someone and he thinks he's the reason they're not going to be able to find Grant. They were already at a dead end. Almost killed his father.” John looks up at her, fearful of how she'd react. “Zee, he's freaking out, I swear, he's not usually like this.”

“Something like berserker's rage?” She asks. 

 John swallows. “Maybe? Zatanna, please, he's a good man. Go, I'll catch up after breaking these guys apart Shouldn't take too long.”

“But, you could come with-” 

“They're going to keep finding us,” He says firmly. “Someone needs to deal with them. And this is my area of expertise.”

Zatanna's lips scrunch up as she thinks. “Alright, fine.”

“Just like that?” 

“For you, Peaches? Anything,” She says with a soft smile. 

John scoffs at the pet name, unmuting the phone. “Listen, you stay wherever you are. Don't move to another city. Someone will be there for you tomorrow morning. Get some rest. You'll need it.”

“What about you? When-”

John smiles at the feeling of being wanted. “Don't worry that pretty gelled head of yours. I'll catch up before you know it. Just have some loose ends to tie up.” He grins lazily. “Trust me, I'd be there if I could. I could really lose myself in Australia right now.”

Kane lets out an amused laugh. “Wisecracking even now?”

“It's how I smooth things over, love. It's part of my charm.” John stops talking, looking at an attentive Zatanna. “The person who's coming, she's going to make you feel… you'll like her. I promise. Don't try to resist it.”

“You act as if I'm not personable,” Kane sniffs. 

“We both know you're very particular.”

“Should I… go back? To the hotel?” Kane asks. It's obvious he needs guidance, he needs a light in the darkness right now. 

“Depends on you. Depends on if you can face your old man again. You wanna know something, though?”

“What?” It's small and quiet, worried about what he might say. 

“I think you're strong enough to look the bastard in the eyes and not flinch.” John grins wide. “You fought an aswang off of me. I know the strength you have, Kane Wolfman.”

He can hear the gears whirring in Kane's head. “Eye. He's missing one. It'd just be looking him in the eye.”

“There's my feisty mercenary. Go, get back to the hotel. Clean up. And get some sleep, I know you need it.”

“Yes, sir,” Kane snarks. 

“I'll talk to you tomorrow, after everything's been…settled. Sleep tight, don't let any karakura bite,” He says with a tease. 

“Night, you smutty Brit.”

He can't help but to laugh at Kane's affectionate words. It makes him miss his Aussie, miss the company of him, and he stares at the screen of the phone for just a few minutes before noticing the look on Zatanna's face. “What?” 

“I love seeing you in love,” She says softly. 

“I-” He tries to say he's not, but he can't lie about it. Not to her. “He's my heart, Zee, help me protect it,” He asks, pleading and just a bit desperate. 

“Always, my sun,” Zatanna says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “As long as I stand. Just do the same. Promise me you won't miss out on anything in a relationship because of you and I.”

John hesitantly nods. “‘course. Yeah, love.”

She stands, and as he follows, he notices she's gotten redressed since he was on the phone. “Share that emotion tracking spell with me?” They grab each other's left arm, and John recites a spell, transferring the magic over to her. She hums, narrowing her eyes. “Lisbon. Interesting.”

“You know how you're going to get there?” John asks. 

“Probably just teleport,” She answers. “Same way we got here.”

“Careful,” He chides. “Kane's just starting to understand the arcane, and I imagine his father hasn't been introduced to magic at all.”

“Well, he's about to meet me,” She says with a smirk. “What better way?”

“What better way indeed.” John presses his forehead to hers. “May you have light with every step you walk.”

Zatanna hums. “And may you still see your path even in the pitch black.”

She pulls away, whispering a spell before disappearing right in front of him. Somehow, though, he doesn't feel alone. He knows what waits for him once he shakes the Cult off of his back. The only thing that still pulls at him is being honest with Kane, being honest about how much he needs Zatanna in his life. He can only hope it goes well. There's a knock at the door, and John rolls his eyes, shoving away thoughts. 

There's work to be had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we have reached full circle.


	9. rough waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep your head above the surface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, holding the dead corpse of writer's block in my hands: I can explain

 

_-now-_

 

Kane collapses into the bed, not bothering to pull the sheets back. He's just tired, so tired of existing already. Grant's laptop sits on the table, almost whispering to him, taunting him with promises of secrets. Instead, he goes to the only sense of safety he has, waiting for the phone to pick up. 

“I was just about to call you, _passer_ ,” John remarks. “How was your day?” 

“It was a day,” Kane mumbles. 

“Oh?” 

“Things were brought up by my father that I didn't want brought up.” 

John sighs. “Sorry, love. Can't do much about that. Now if it was Zee you were having issues with, I could probably fix that in a heartbeat.”

“No, Zatanna is…nice. Caring.” Kane lets out a long breath. “Did you tell her to take care of me?”

“She takes it into her own hands once she knows you need help,” John admits. “She has a very compassionate nature.”

“It's rather welcome,” Kane confesses. “I don't think anyone besides you two have been so soft about it.”

“You give me too much credit.” 

“You don't give yourself enough.” 

John laughs. “You know, I'd say you're right, but a few cultists in this ditch would say otherwise.”

Kane sits up in surprise. “What-” 

“They're still kicking. For now,” John tacks on. “Their survival is on them.”

“They must have crossed you rather nastily for you to be this upset,” Kane comments. 

“We've met before. They tried to kill me, tried to kidnap Zee. Not exactly a fan of them.” Kane hears a click of a lighter. “You want to talk about it?”

Kane thinks about the subject, how much it weighs on his heart. He can't tell John what he's done, how he cut his brother's throat open in a mindless action, because if he can do that to his own brother, what could he do to John? “...he brought up my brother.”

“Are you wanting to keep the two separate?” John asks. 

“As much as possible. I don't want Grant to…end up like me. He deserves better than that.” Kane sighs, grinding his teeth together as he closes his eyes. "He deserves better than he's gotten."

"Sounds like he's got a good chance if…"

Kane blinks, eyes shutting again as he realizes he lost the last words said. "What did you say?" 

John chuckles. "You sound tired, Kane."

"It's like Zatanna is some infectious sleep… thingy…"

John titters out a laugh. "Oh, no, you're getting a healthy sleep schedule. Whatever shall you do?"

"Force myself to stay awake?" Kane proposes, only to be countered by a well timed yawn. 

"What if I tell you a bedtime story?" John offers. 

"I'm not a child," Kane grumbles, wrapping himself into the top blanket like a cocoon. 

"Alright, then, just a normal story. How about the one where I played poker with a banshee?" John asks. 

"Did she scream?" Kane asks.

"Later that night, but that's not the main part of the story," John corrects. "There was also a fae involved and he…"

Those are the last words Kane understands, rest pulling at him like a three year old scared to sleep in their own bed. He won't remember the story when he wakes, just as he won't remember the mental note he makes to ask John to tell him the story again. It's a bittersweet ache to not have John next to him, to not feel that warmth and feeling of being wanted right there, right then. But the sound of his voice, sweet and inviting, is enough to tide him over for now as he falls into a restful sleep. 

* * *

The sound of metal clanging against metal is what rouses Slade from his slumber, the smell of fish being what keeps him awake. Zatanna only gives him a small glance as he goes to the bathroom, not acknowledging him past that. When he comes back out, he inspects her cooking. "He doesn't like fish," Slade comments. 

"Good for him, this is for me. I already made his naan wrap with lamb and yours with beef. If you want to swap with him, I could care less," She mumbles, pushing her hair back. 

"Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" 

"No, I couldn't sleep at all again," She huffs. "So I wrote out spells and got breakfast ready."

Slade looks at the already prepared meals, watching the steam come off the plates. "Magic?" 

"Magic," She answers. 

Her scar is covered again with a simple sleeveless dress, white and black ruffles on the torso with a pure black skirt. The bunny keeps flitting between her arms as she cooks her food. "And if I wanted the fish?" He asks out of curiosity. 

"I would make another for you. I don't eat any meat except for fish. It's a…me thing." 

He watches her hands work, watches Clary keep edging to her hands as if to smell the food but not get burned. "Don't like eating animals?" 

Her lips purse, voice hesitant. "Sure, let's go with that." She sets the pan aside, reaching into her bag and pulling out a thermos as she sits down on the bed. "It's six in the evening right now. I figured we'd let Kane nap a few more hours before moving up."

Slade looks at the wall separating them and his son. "It's better at night for him anyway."

"Was it for you? When you were all…methed out?" 

He gives her a baffled look at her word usage. "Methed out?" 

She looks down at the floor, cheeks beet red. "Sorry, couldn't think of anything else at the time."

All he can do is blink and try to process what she said again. He hasn't been able to come up with a term for it, and if Kane has, he hasn't disclosed it nor had time to. But it is rather accurate; hallucinations, hypersensitivity, and bouts of sudden anger abound with both drugs. "You're rather close to the mark," He admits. 

Zatanna's lips twitch up. "You don't have to be nice."

"The only time 'nice' is used in reference to me is 'wouldn't it be nice to have Slade Wilson locked up?'" He says dryly. "I don't know how to be nice. I know how to be blunt."

"Bluntness can be a blessing and a curse." She takes a drink out of her thermos. "Most things have both. Back to my point. We'll leave at eight."

"Are you going to be alright to drive?" Slade asks, quirking his eyebrow up. 

"Are you?" She retorts. 

He rolls his eye. "Yes, I can drive perfectly fine. I also got more sleep than you. So you can nap in the car." 

"You don't want me sleeping anywhere near you," She says, sarcastic smile on her face. 

"Some kind of sleep magic?" Slade inquires. 

"Night terrors. I wake up screaming. Haven't gone a full eight hours resting in six years." She shakes her bottle. "Supercharged espresso. Keeps me going for a few days."

Jesus fucking Christ, they're trusting a strung out caffeine addict to help them find Grant. "And if you die?" 

"Two things. One, I've done this for six years, been able to function somewhat fine. There's a bunch of other things in here to alleviate the symptoms of sleep deprivation, otherwise I probably would've ripped your head off for that. Two, I came here for a good time, not a long one. Don't worry about keeping me alive, worry about you and your own." Zatanna takes another drink. "I can handle myself just fine. Takes a lot to scare me."

Slade gestures to his neck. "As it does me, but I've already been scared on this trip."

She tilts her head in contemplation. "You're scared because you thought you were losing your son. This is very personal for you. I have no personal stake yet."

"Yet," He repeats. 

She smiles. "I told you, I'm a sucker for lost boys."

Slade scoffs, picking up the beef naan wrap. "Throw a feathered hat on you and call you Peter Pan."

She titters out a laugh, standing to get her own food. "Maybe. Some versions, I detest. Read 'The Child Thief', you'll be singing a different story." She takes a bit before humming. "Or maybe not. All opinion based."

"'The Child Thief'?" 

"One of those dark retellings of beloved stories. Peter kidnaps kids to fight against adult zombielike things to protect this fae that was like his mom. And you have a chance of turning into one of the flesh eaters the older you are? It's been awhile since I've read it, so pardon the vagueness. Despite my poor description, it was really well written. Sad, though. Very sad."

Slade makes a sound of distaste. "Sounds rather boring. Most 'dark retellings' are."

Out of nowhere, a book is shoved into his chest. "Just try the first chapter," She says, mouth full of food before she swallows. "If you don't like it, I'll take it back."

His attention is pulled away from her and to the book jacket, glancing over the summary before flicking open to the first page. He grabs his plate and sits in the kitchenette chair, telling himself he'll read just one more page before giving the book back. 

He's told himself one more page sixty three times before Zatanna taps his shoulder. "I'm going to go wake up Kane. Can you get the car ready?" 

It's his son, he should argue, but Kane needs his space. Slade's done enough to upset him the last couple of days, he doesn't need to do anymore. It still hurts, nonetheless, but it's his own fault. 

* * *

Kane feels a hand run through his hair and a feminine voice softly chiming, "Wake up, starshine."

He picks his head, blinking as he tries to become aware of his surroundings. "What…?"

"It's eight at night. We were thinking about heading out. You can sleep in the car if you want-" 

"John!" Kane picks up his phone, groaning as he puts it to his forehead in disappointment. "I fell asleep on him."

A hand wraps around his wrist gently, pulling his hand away. "I can say without a doubt he's more relieved you slept than upset you fell asleep." He looks up at her, feeling the worry melt as she smiles at him. "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be on his way soon."

Kane nods, stretching his arms out. He watches as she slings his bag around her shoulder. "You know, don't you?"

She tilts her head. "Know…?" 

"About me and John."

Her face softens. "Of course. He knows I'd be absolutely pissed if he didn't tell me."

"Because you two used to be a thing."

The smile drops, her eyes widened in surprise. "How did you-" 

Kane shrugs. "The way he talked about you. Like you were the one that got away and he was thankful that you got out."

She laughs dryly, looking out the window. "That's one way to put it." 

There's something more to the expression she has, something untold that is important. He wants to pry; but shouldn't he ask John? Wouldn't he be upfront about it if it was important? 

_“I…haven't been honest with you.”_

_“Nor have I with you. We both keep our secrets.”_

What has her so quiet, so reserved, when she hasn't been such at any other point in their trip? What about her and John's relationship makes her so defensive? "You two aren't still…"

Zatanna's eyes narrow in confusion before she bursts into a fit of giggles. "Oh my God, no. Jesus fucking Christ, no. That shop sailed a long time ago then tragically wrecked over the Marianas Trench."

Kane swallows his sigh of relief. "So you're just exes?" 

"Exes that are bitchy best friends that can't stop loving each other in the way that best friends do." She nods to the table where the laptops lay. "Come on, let's go find your brother."

Kane listens, slipping the laptop bag over his shoulder as he thinks. She wasn't lying when she said it was over, but there is still something being hidden. But what? What is so important it needs to be covered by the world's best camouflage? 

* * *

Slade sighs, looking over to the passenger seat. "I thought I told you to sleep."

Zatanna shakes her head. "Reserving the car ferry tickets." 

"Zatanna," Slade says slowly. "This car isn't registered to me or Kane."

"Hmm," She pouts. "I'll figure it out."

"This isn't just something we figure out!" 

She shoots a nasty look to him. "You all vetoed magic. Short of flying by plane, this is the only way to get to Wales."

Slade goes quiet, and tries not to let the uncertainty stress him out.

Tries. 

Her music still plays on the stereo, having fluctuated between quite a few genres to his surprise in the last few hours. 

_"I live in a city of animosity, I'm just terrified it comes with the territory…"_

Kane looks through the laptop, eyes glued to the screen, not even bothering to look away when Zatanna hands him a slice of homemade bread. He takes a bite of it, and that's when his concentration breaks. "This flavor…"

"Shōyo ramen. Obviously couldn't have a tonkotsu base, because, you know, pork broth and such." 

"How can you bake an entire meal flavor into bread?" Slade asks, doubtful of the claim. 

She tears off a piece of bread, holding it close to his face. "Take a bite."

Slade glares at her. "I'm not eating some disgusting excuse of bread."

"It's good," Kane says, giving Slade the same glare. 

Slade huffs, taking the piece of bread from Zatanna and eating it. Kane was right, it tastes exactly like ramen. He holds back from swearing, from admitting it was good. "It's alright."

Kane rolls his eyes. "This is some real life Willy Wonka shit and he says 'it's alright'," He mutters. 

"I can still hear you," Slade says flatly.

"I know."

The song ends, a synth sound starts playing through the stereo, and Slade raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

_"We sit and watch umbrellas fly, I'm trying to keep my newspaper dry…"_

"Well, now."

Zatanna looks over to him. "What?" 

"I have never met another human being that just knew what 'Manhattan Skyline' was without me showing it to them."

"Uh, it's a-ha's best song," She retorts. 

"I thought 'Take On Me' was a-ha's best song," Kane chimes in. 

Zatanna takes a deep breath. "Babe, stop talking or I'm going to have to smack you."

"Has to be a reason everyone knows 'Take On Me'," Kane reasons. 

"People don't have good taste," Zatanna says with a scowl. 

"That damn music video," Slade responds. "And the fact that yes, people don't know what's good."

Zatanna looks at him innocently. "Speaking of what's good, how's the book?" 

 _Really good._ "I don't want to talk about it," Slade grumbles. 

She smiles, turning her attention back to her phone.

Slade lets out a long breath. If he put just a little imagination into it, he could believe that they were just a normal group of people on a road trip to meet up with someone. 

Except he knows fuck all about the woman to his right. 

And his son hates him, rightfully so. 

And they don't even know where their final destination. 

And there's a man that has his stakes in the game that mysteriously sent the woman.

And Wade DeForge and all of ASIS is after them. 

* * *

They're in line to drive onto the ferry when Kane bolts up. "The guns!" 

Slade groans. He'd forgotten as well. "Dammit."

Zatanna sighs. "Really?" 

"What do you expect?" Slade sniffs. "We're mercenaries-" 

"That's not what I meant." 

A foreign language flows out of her mouth before she goes back to her game. Slade and Kane just sit there and stare at her for a solid minute. 

"Bless you," Kane says.

"Slade, the person in front of us moved ahead," Zatanna notes.

"Yes, and we still have the guns in the back." He moves forward still, swallowing down his fear. "What are we going to do?" 

"Keep going?" She answers, as if he's one dumbass motherfucker and not reasonable in his worries. "I've got it covered." 

"If we get pulled out and detained because of this…" Slade warns. 

"How much Italian do you know?" 

Her questions throws him off, and he doesn't have a chance to answer before a ferry line employee comes up to the driver window. "Papers, please."

Zatanna leans past Slade, handing the employee a folder with a big grin. "How are you today?" She asks in a slight Italian accent. 

The ferry worker smiles. "Doing fine." He looks over their paperwork. "You all seem to check out." He looks down at Slade's silent figure. "Is your father not so pleased with the day?" 

The entire car goes silent. "Apologies, my _husband_ doesn't speak English," She corrects. 

 _"Strega esasperante, non osare dire un'altra fottuta parola,"_ Slade growls. 

The ferry worker pales. "I-I'm so sorry-"

"No problem, don't worry! _Andrà bene_!" Zatanna waves her hand. "Just get us through and it'll be disappeared!" 

The ferry worker nods, stepping away. "Yes, ma'am, of course!" 

Zatanna settles back, smiling smugly. "There. Taken care of."

"Okay, and if they scan the car for weapons? For guns?" Slade asks with a stressed heat. 

"We'll be fine, stop stressing," She sighs.

Slade looks back to his son, surprised that Kane isn't as stressed as he is. In fact, Kane looks completely relaxed for once, looking over the laptop. The cars move forward and he takes a deep breath. This is it, this is the point where they get arrested-

The cars keep moving onto the ferry, and Slade feels the stress drip off of him like he just got done swimming in a lake of absolute anxiety. No one rushes to them, no one is shouting. They're fine. 

They're directed to grab their bags, and Slade looks around before popping the trunk. The bags that were holding the guns are noticeably not gun shaped any longer, and he unzips one enough to see easels and painting supplies. Zatanna rounds the car, humming. "I told you not to worry about it."

"So where are the guns?" Slade asks. 

"Those are the guns, for now," Zatanna tacks on. "Transformation spells are something I excel at."

"You also excel at disappearing bodies," He snarks. 

She simply shrugs. "You do what you can with what you have." She picks her small backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Come on, get your stuff and let's get settled in the cabin."

"Is the spell going to last?" He asks. 

Zatanna rolls her eyes. "Yes, oh my God, let's go."

Slade sighs as she walks away, making sure to secure the car after taking his bag. She waits by the door into the cabins, Kane already having ducked in apparently. "Your Italian isn't that bad," She notes. 

Slade scoffs. "You're lucky Kane isn't entirely fluent. _Meglio della tua cucina, strega."_

She lets out a haughty huff. _"La mia cottura è molto meglio della tua capacità di mantenere la calma."_

 _"La mia capacità di mantenere la calma è migliore dei tuoi gusti di moda,"_ Slade retorts, opening the door.

That gets a barking laugh from her as they go in. _"Sì, perché arancione e nero vanno bene insieme al di fuori di ottobre."_

He gives her a wry smile. _"È la linea autunnale ASIS."_

She cackles, and it gains Kane's attention as they walk into the cabin. "Something happen?" 

"An argument," Zatanna says with pursed lips. 

Slade shrugs when Kane looks at him. It's not exactly the un-truth. 

* * *

She always knows when bad news is coming. 

It sits in the pit of her stomach, buzzing around like bees. She doesn't know if it's magic or just intuition, but it never fails. Ever. 

Zatanna stares above at the bunk above her, trying to focus on Kane breathing and not on the feeling. She knows it's not seasickness; even with the endless water underneath them, she's still fine. Just a little bit of meditation, just crawl into her head space and let things go for just a moment… 

Her phone rings. 

It sets both of her hearts into a panic, and she swallows as she looks at the screen, hoping she doesn't see the contact photo of John ugly sleeping, mouth open as he drools on a couch throw pillow. Instead, it's a number she doesn't know, and she takes a deep breath before answering it. "Hello?" 

A shaky breath rattles through the phone. "Zatanna, it's-it's me, it's Cheryl."

Zatanna blinks, needing more space to breath as she slides out of the bunk. She tries to ignore the attention that father and son give her. "Oh, did John give you this number?" 

"Y-yes, I called him and-" A sob shakes out of Cheryl and Zatanna steels herself for the next words. "She's gone, Zee. Gemma disappeared and Tony and-and I have looked _everywhere_!" Her last word comes out as a near wail before Cheryl breaks down into a crying mess. 

Zatanna sucks in air, trying to calm herself. Gemma. Their little Gem. "Okay, okay. I'm headed up to where you're at, I'll be there soon."

"Please hurry!" Cheryl sobs. 

Zatanna hangs up, feeling the pit grow spikes as she turns to face Kane, taking in his widened eyes; he knows, he heard every bit of it, and she says her next words more for Slade than Kane. 

"John's niece is missing."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used in order:  
> Red Lights - Paul Conrad  
> Manhattan Skyline - a-ha
> 
> The real fun is translating the Italian.

**Author's Note:**

> But wait, if Arrow makes it impossible for my fic to exist... Does that mean any time I write something, there's a chance of Slade coming back? 🤔
> 
> Fanart is also welcome ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/


End file.
